Swallowing his rage didn't put it out. With his back to the VIP carriage, Revan returned to the grim work of stripping the dead.
On the fourth body, the mark sat on the collarbone. The seventh had it on the forearm. By the twelfth corpse, the pattern was clear: every man they had killed carried the orchid with twisting thorns, the sign of the Garden of Eternal Bloom.
'Fuck. This is infuriating.'
A long, heavy breath left him.
'Fine. I'll just ask her.'
If anyone on this train could explain those thorns, it was the girl who had known exactly where to stab the monster.
Barely above a whisper, he talked to himself.
"Okay, Revan... listen to me. Keep your words in check, and watch your tone. Don't let your irritation be the reason you end up back in that void again."
His numb fingers finished tying the bundles of coats and rations. Then, ten minutes later, loaded down with supplies, he made his way back to the broken hull.
