Ezra stood quietly.
One hand rested against the cold stone wall of the Maze while the other supported Aliya's body across his shoulder. The wall felt damp beneath his fingers, rough and uneven, the stone looked like it had been scratched by years of battles that had taken place in this place.
He stared down at the ground for a while, then continued walking even while his mind was not calm.
It was a storm.
Fragments of memory kept replaying inside his head, the bloody scene of the family he had slaughtered in what seemed to be his past life flashing again and again before his eyes as if someone kept forcing him to watch it.
The gunshots, the screams and the smell of blood.
Ezra finally understood something he had refused to admit before.
The urge to retaliate at the slightest provocation.
The kill intent that naturally flowed from him when anger rose.
