“Have a heart. Darrow, you’re no murderer. You’re no Titus.” The heartbeat sound of the room deepens. White light silhouetting him. He wants pity. My pity was lost in the darkness. The heroes of Red songs have mercy, honor. They let men live, as I let the Jackal live, so they can remain untarnished by sin. Let the villain be the evil one. Let him wear black and try to stab me as I turn my back, so I can wheel about and kill him, giving satisfaction without guilt. But this is no song. This is war.
