For whatever reason, Florian's voice barely carried over the crackling fire, his throat raw, his breath hitching as if speaking were an insurmountable effort. "Even after everything..."
His fingers twitched against the thick fabric of Heinz's coat, the sensation grounding him in a reality he wasn't sure he wanted to face. The fire's glow cast flickering shadows over their forms, its heat licking at his skin, but it did nothing to thaw the deep, gnawing cold settling in his bones.
Each inhale was uneven, strangled, as though his lungs had forgotten how to function properly. The weight of everything—what had happened, what he had seen—pressed down on him with an invisible force, suffocating, inescapable.
He should hate them. He wanted to. His veins should be boiling with fury, his heart clenching with disgust. He should be spitting curses, seething, wishing them the worst.
But instead—
