Were Kamran a different sort of man, he might’ve acquiesced then to a terrifying compulsion. He felt in that moment nothing greater than an ancient impulse to cry, valiantly resisting the instinct even as a flare of grief tore through him. He had never felt more desperately alone in the world than he did then, trapped in the set piece of a nightmare, in the failing flesh of his own body. His mother had done him a mercy, but she’d promptly vanished. There was no one left he might trust, no one upon whom he might rely. The thought threatened to break him, and he vehemently refused it residence
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