I stood over Scarface's lifeless body, watching as the last flicker of life left his eyes. The room fell into a heavy silence punctuated only by the nervous breathing of Caesar and his men. Death never brought me pleasure, but I couldn't deny the necessity of what I'd done.
Kneeling beside the corpse, I reached into his inner pocket and retrieved a small wooden box. Opening it carefully, I examined the hundred-year-old Medicine King herb inside – exactly as I'd expected. The herb's faint luminescence cast a gentle glow on my face as I closed the box and tucked it into my own pocket.
"Is... is he really dead?" Caesar whispered from behind me, his voice trembling.
I didn't bother looking back. "Yes."
Movement near the door caught my attention. One of Scarface's followers was attempting to slip away unnoticed, terror etched across his face. He froze when our eyes met.
"Please," he begged, raising his hands. "I was just following orders. I have a family."
