Jun 3, 2019
It would have been more... politique for him to stay at the scene, gazing in shocked, open-mouthed horror at the bodies. Ten. Ten dead on purpose. And Luna was one of them. They had fought often, yes, and he never understood why she made room for such foolish things as compassion, but he had, on some level, loved her. More than that, he had trusted her.
At the back of his mind, Søren wondered whether he was losing his edge, but practicality or, even more important, image couldn’t keep him from leaving. He stumbled onto a nearby bench--close enough for him to overhear what was happening, but not as to have to see. He pulled a bottle of vodka from his purse and toasted the sky before pouring the drink out in her honor.