"When I found out—" He had to stop, had to breathe, had to force himself to continue. "When I saw the reports, saw the names—"
His hands started shaking. Visibly trembling in the dim light.
"When I saw the pictures of those younglings—"
I sat up too, my heart racing, watching him come apart, wanting to offer comfort but not knowing how.
"I went to the ambassador." The words were barely audible now. "Asked him if it was true. If he'd sent me to kill innocents."
I saw his jaw working, muscles jumping beneath the skin as he clenched his teeth so hard I thought they might crack.
"He laughed. Said it was just business. Said I was a weapon, and weapons don't get to question their purpose."
"What did you do?"
"I killed him."
Simple. Direct. No hesitation in his voice. But the flatness was wrong—too controlled, too locked down. Like he'd shut off completely just to get the words out. Like if he let himself feel anything, he'd shatter completely.
"Right there in his office. Snapped his neck and left him on the floor."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"Then I turned myself in," he continued, his voice still that terrible, empty monotone. "Walked into Alliance headquarters and confessed everything. The assassination. The murder of the ambassador. All of it."
"They sent you here."
"I asked to be sent here."
His eyes finally met mine, and what I saw there made my chest constrict. Not just pain. Not just guilt. Complete and utter conviction that he deserved every second of suffering this place could inflict.
"I told them I deserved Palaydium. I wanted the harshest punishment they could give."
His gaze dropped. He couldn't hold eye contact. Couldn't bear to see whatever he thought he'd find in my expression.
"Because those younglings—" His voice broke again. "They were innocent. And I killed them."
"You didn't know."
"I should have known." The self-loathing in his voice was visceral. "I should have done more recon. Should have verified the intelligence. Should have done something other than blindly follow orders."
"You were a soldier. You trusted your commanding officer."
"I was a killer." He turned away from me completely now, presenting me with the scarred landscape of his back. "I am a killer. That's all I've ever been. All I'll ever be."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He gestured around the room. "I'm in the fighting pits on a prison planet, Merrilee. I kill people for entertainment. For the chance to keep you safe, yes, but I'm still killing them. Still adding to the body count."
"Those fighters would kill you if you didn't kill them first."
"Does that make it better?" His voice was raw. "Does that absolve me?"
I moved closer to him, my hand reaching for his shoulder. "You're not a bad man, Ahrick."
He flinched away from my touch. "You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." I moved around to face him, forcing him to look at me. "You make me feel safe. You've fought injured and bleeding to protect me."
