Ace's POV
The wagon jostled beneath us; Ray, Chief Gareth, and I settled onto its splintered front bench. The horses snorted, their breath visible in the chill of the encroaching evening, before trudging down the dirt path toward the chief's house. Ray leaned back, his boots propped lazily on the wagon's edge, while Chief Gareth sat rigidly between us, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the seat.
Ray broke the silence first, his voice low and uncharacteristically somber. "I… might've gone too far back there." He stared at his blood-crusted hands, flexing them as if to shake off the memory. "But when I saw those bandits suffer—when I thought about what they did to those merchants, those travelers…" His jaw tightened, and a flicker of vindication lit his amber eyes. "Torturing them felt like justice. Like they deserved to pay."
