After the last great enemy had been destroyed, only shadow and whisper remained of the darkness. Ezekiel had heard what the Soul line had done to his cousin through way of his father, though he had never told Halo this. He did not think it proper, did not think it needed. If he wished to cut her, he would do so with his claws. Yet he wanted to establish his co-leaders as allies, not enemies. Talitha was somewhere between both. Both he and his sister could destroy one another if they came to it.
In the end, of course, Ezekiel would persevere. He was more than what his sister had become. “Nothing is wrong,” Ezekiel admitted, leaning his head into her nose. “We’ll always be savages, Talitha.” The skulls showed this, their macabre display made of nightmarish things. They would never escape their history, and he had no desire to do such a thing. The Aquila merely sought to warp their appearance from that of a monster into a misunderstood culture; sympathy made strangers weak.
Suddenly he stood, pulling her up as he did so. “Let’s stop worrying about things for once. I’ll race you,”
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