Merk watched the sky lighten and he knew he had to move on. He had wasted too much time here already, fighting a fight that was not his. Was this what happened, he wondered, when you fought for causes that were not your own? Did you end up feeling this sense of confusion, of mixed satisfaction?

“I must go,” he said firmly, impatient. “A long journey lies before me, and a new day breaks.”

She did not reply. He looked down at her and felt a sense of responsibility for her, here all alone, and he debated what to do.

“Other predators roam this countryside,” he continued. “It is no place for you to be alone. Come with me. I will find you protection in the Tower of Ur, or somewhere close by.”

It was the first time he had ever offered anyone to join him, had ever gone out of his way to help someone for no reason, and it made him feel good—yet also nervous. It was not who he was.

Merk expected her to jump at his offer, and he was confused when she shook her head, not even meeting his eyes.

“Never,” she seethed.

He was shocked as she looked up at him with eyes filled with hatred.

“I would never join you,” she added.

He blinked back.

“I don’t understand,” he replied.

“This is all your fault,” she said, looking back at the corpses.

“My fault?” he asked, indignant.

“I begged for you to come sooner,” she said. “If you had listened, you could have saved them. Now they all lie dead because of you. Because of your selfishness.”

Merk frowned.

“Let me remind you,” he replied, “that you are alive right now because of my selfishness.”

She shook her head.

“Pity for me,” she replied. “I wish I had died with them. And for that I hate you even more.”

Merk sighed, furious, realizing that that was what he got for helping people. Ingratitude. Hatred. Better to keep to himself.

“Fine then,” he said.

He turned to walk away, but for some reason he still could not. Despite everything, for some reason, he still cared for her. And he hated that he did.

“I shall not ask you again,” he said, his voice quivering with anger, standing there, waiting.

She would not respond.

He turned and scowled at her.

“You do realize,” he said, dumbfounded, “that staying here alone is a death sentence.”

She nodded.

“And that is precisely what I hope for,” she replied.

“You are confused,” he said. “I am not their murderer. I am your savior.”

She looked him with such contempt that Merk recoiled.

“You are no one’s savior,” she spat. “You are not even a man. You are a mercenary. A murderer for hire. And you are no better than these men—don’t pretend that you are.”