Soren
I stared at the body on the floor, my breathing uneven. My hands shook, the knife still gripped tightly in my fingers. The blade dripped with blood, his blood.
Alexander, my father, if I could even call him that lay lifeless at my feet, his face frozen in something between rage and disappointment.
Disappointment.
That was the last thing he'd said before I lost control.
"You could have been so much more, Soren. But you've let Rowan hold you back. You've always been weak."
Weak.
I had heard that word my entire life, from different mouths, in different tones, but always with the same sting.
I took a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair. My fingers came back slick with sweat and blood. My mind was blank, my thoughts scattered, like someone had just yanked me out of my body and left me standing here as a spectator.
I had killed him.
Not out of strategy. Not out of necessity.
Just pure, unfiltered rage.
