Lucian stood up slowly, gripping his black katana tightly, blood dripping off the blade and pooling at his feet with a soft, rhythmic tip, tip, tip. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of his own shock, the tension making his legs waver slightly. It was the first time he had ever seen so much blood, and even though every instinct told him to back away, he forced himself to steady his breathing and stay calm.
"Thanks, Max," he murmured, as if to an invisible presence, his voice barely a whisper. Nobody else in the room could understand what he meant, and in that moment, he didn't care. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the scene in front of him and the fractured feelings of survival, duty, and fear.
