Medusa felt hollow.
Predator's words had drained what little color remained in her face, leaving her even more pale, looking lifeless.
Betray Barclay. Save the others. Die anyway. It was a cruel mockery of her earlier plea for sacrifice.
And the worst part? It was logical.
If she meant what she said—if she truly wanted to protect her people—then this was the only solution.
So why did it feel so wrong?
The weight of his words settled in her chest, heavy, suffocating. She parted her lips, ready to speak, but—
"Mistress, don't do it!" Pantheress' voice reached out through the darkness. A desperate plea.
Medusa barely had time to react before—
"Mistress! Egor will save you!" The voice came from above.
A thunderous roar, heavy footfalls slamming against the theatre steps, each one a declaration of unshakable, foolish loyalty.
Egor.
Medusa's chest seized as she whirled around.
"No! Egor, STOP!"
But it was too late.
