Heinz stared at Augustus, the flickering firelight casting shifting shadows across his face. His words—to make a statement—hung in the air, absurd to the point of being laughable.
'They've lost it,' he thought. 'The entire village has officially lost it.'
He exhaled slowly, keeping his composure, but the weight of the situation pressed against his skin like a suffocating heat. The scent of burning wood and charred flesh curled in his lungs, thick and suffocating. Yet, beyond the fire, beyond the destruction, it was their eyes that unsettled him most.
Desperation. Hunger. Something deeper, something irreversible.
He spoke, his voice level, devoid of amusement.
"A statement?" Heinz repeated. "And what exactly does that mean? What does any of this have to do with your cheap illusions?"
Augustus smiled—slowly, knowingly. As if he had been waiting for that question.
