A few yards away, Mercy appears at the mouth of the path, cloaked in moonlight and gore. She takes a few steps and then stops, her dagger loosely clutched in her hand. Her dress is ripped, uncovering the swell of one of her breasts, strands of her black hair, wet with blood, sticking to her face. My breathing slows as I silently take her in, reluctant to alert her of my presence. I’ve never seen her so … at peace before.
