The intensity of my rage crashes through my veins. She left me. Without a backward glance, as though our brief time together had no impact. As angry as I was, I feared for her life once I realized she'd gone through the window. Now that I have her back, in my hands, I want to hold her, I want to squeeze her until she can't think of leaving again. Of putting her life in danger. I want to hurt her, crush her under my bare hands.
But I don't want to see her broken.
This thought pulls me back from the brink of killing her. Death and destruction have been my common friends for so long that I can barely see my way back to civility. As much as I portray the coolly intelligent commander, I am as much a part of this dead world as it is me. Only the strongest survive, and I'm among them. I feel
