Hale's shoulders shook with laughter—cold, harsh, and mocking. "What reason do I have? Jefferson is dead. My job here is done."
"What about your cult?" Kant tried to bargain, refusing to back down. "If you jump, I swear, I'll go back there and burn everything to ash. Such a thing as 'Lazarus Blessing' will have never existed."
The wind howled around them, but Hale didn't seem to care. He took a step closer to the edge, his shadowy form now looming even more menacing in the dimming light of the evening sky.
"It was doomed the moment it slipped from my control. I've accepted it. I understand now."
Kant took a breath, his fingers clenching into fists. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to charge, to tackle Hale, to stop this madness before it went any further. But one wrong move could send him over the edge. Metaphorically and physically.
