"No!" Vale shouted, moving to block their line of sight. "She's just a kid! Leave her out of this!"
One agent motioned to the other. "Grab her. If he's hiding something, she'll make him talk."
"No! Don't touch her!" Vale's voice cracked, desperation clawing at his throat.
Rue, terrified, turned to run, but one of the agents lunged for her. Acting on instinct, Vale charged at him, slamming into his side.
The man stumbled, but his partner raised his weapon.
A loud Bang echoed through the room…...
Vale froze. Time seemed to stop as he turned toward Rue.
She stood still for a moment, her wide eyes locked on his. Then, slowly, she crumpled to the floor.
"No… Rue!" Vale's scream tore through the room as he ran to her side. Blood seeped through her shirt, pooling beneath her small body.
Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. "Vale…" she whispered, her voice faint.
"I'm here," he said, his hands shaking as he pressed them against her wound. "You're going to be okay. Stay with me."
Her tiny hand reached up, brushing against his cheek. "I was… scared…"
"No, Rue. Don't talk like that. You're fine. I'll fix this."
Her lips twitched into a weak smile. "You always… tried to protect me…"
Her hand fell away, and her eyes closed.
"Rue? Rue, wake up!" Vale's voice cracked, tears streaming down his face. "Don't do this to me. Please!"
The agents were gone, leaving the room hollow. Vale knelt on the floor, cradling Rue in his trembling arms.
Her face was so peaceful, as if she might wake at any moment and scold him for being late.
But the stillness wasn't sleep—it was an absence, a void where her spark should have been.
"Rue…" His voice cracked, shattering under the weight of her name. He tried to shake her gently, hoping, praying for any response. None came.
The silence was unbearable, pressing down like a suffocating blanket.
His chest ached, his heart beating a frantic rhythm that felt all the crueller when hers was silent.
He clung to her tighter, as if sheer will could anchor her soul back to her body. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words trembling like a candle's flame in the wind. "I'm so sorry."
Grief clawed its way through him, raw and unrelenting. It felt like shards of glass slicing through his chest, each one inscribed with a memory.
Her laughter, her teasing grin, her warm hugs—it all came rushing back, only to shatter against the cold reality of the present.
His tears fell freely, splattering onto Rue's lifeless face. They traced paths down her cheeks, like raindrops rolling down a window on a stormy night.
She had always hated storms, always crawled into his arms when thunder cracked too loudly.
But this storm was different. This was inside him—howling winds of guilt and despair, tearing him apart from the inside.
When he pressed his forehead to hers, the warmth of her skin was already fading. It was like holding a snowflake and watching it melt away, no matter how tightly you clung to it.
"I should've been better," he choked out.
His throat felt like it was lined with razor blades. "I should've—" His words broke off as a sob wracked his body, forcing him to cling tighter to Rue's small frame.
The first rays of dawn bled through the shattered windows, but they brought no comfort.
Instead, the light exposed everything—the blood, the broken furniture, the unblinking eyes of his sister.
The sight snapped something inside him. His grief didn't lessen, but it twisted, hardening into something darker.
The sorrow was a seed, and from it grew rage—twisting vines that choked out every other feeling.
"I'll make them pay." His voice was low, each word dragging across his throat like a blade.
His tears dried, his expression hollowing into something cold. He set Rue down gently on the couch, brushing a hand through her hair one last time.
"You deserved so much better," he whispered. "I'll make sure they all know it."
As he turned and stepped into the growing light of morning, Vale wasn't the same. The boy Rue had called brother was gone.
All that remained was a promise—a force shaped by love, sharpened by loss, and driven by vengeance.
What Vale failed to notice was his body black from his feet to his neck the Crucible had found him.
The world had taken everything from him. Now, it would learn what it meant to suffer.
Finally gaining clarity, Vale became acutely aware of his body.
His limbs trembled, his skin slick with cold sweat, and a dull ache settled deep in his bones. He staggered upright, regaining his footing with the hesitance of someone testing shaky ground after a landslide.
The slums stretched around him like a morbid painting—shadows thickening in the alleys, the distant hum of voices muffled like secrets, and the air tinged with rot and despair.
His lips twitched, his throat dry. He tried to speak, but no words came, as if his voice was buried beneath the weight of everything he had just lost.
Then, like a drop of poison in water, a single word seeped into his mind.
"Pathetic..." he muttered, his voice hollow.
Cradling Rue's lifeless body, Vale stepped out into the streets.