Rex stood over her, the predator admiring the kill, though the kill refused to die. He raised a hand to his face, wiping a thick smear of crimson from his chin with the back of his knuckles.
A dark, satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
He had dismantled a god.
He had broken the lightning.
He bent his head low, leaning into her space, wanting to see the moment the last spark of defiance finally flickered out.
Then, his smile faltered. His brows drew together.
Something had shifted. The air around them didn't just grow cold; it grew heavy, as if the atmosphere itself had suddenly gained mass.
Rex felt it before his eyes could process it. Using the same supernatural sensitivity he employed to read the intricate registers of human souls, he felt a tremor.
