The Prime's hand with her own—bloodied, trembling slightly from the aftermath of battle. The knight had come swift and strong, all the way into the capital castle, only to be defeated just like that.
Just like 'her'.
"…I know," she answered softly, though her voice carried the weight of exhaustion and something deeper—something raw beneath the surface. She understood better than anyone how torturous Aurora could be. But the difference between them was simple: Aurora cared enough not to show it. Henry didn't care at all.
Or so he wanted people to believe.
"…Father, what's the plan now? Are you still going to play hide and seek? Atlas will find out eventually…" Lara voiced, sliding her sword back into its sheath. Her dress was torn, the armor beneath visible in jagged slashes where Irene had struck. She didn't bother fixing it. There were no clean clothes left in this war.
