Luke sat beneath the shade of a towering oak, his back pressed against its rough bark as he stared out across the landscape. His gaze was distant, unfocused—caught in memories that refused to let go. The image of that corpse...ripped apart from the inside out, bones splayed and flesh scattered. It wasn't just the sight of it that clawed at him, but the echo of something far more personal.
His fingers trembled slightly, and he clenched them into fists, feeling the grit of dirt between his palms. He knew better than to let his mind wander back to his old world, that night when everything went red and silent. His mother...his father... No. He shook his head firmly. Now was not the time for that.
