Lilith stared at Ren's body.
She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Not with the sight in front of her.
Just like the rest of her body, her eyes were frozen, locked on the corpse of the man she loved.
Surprisingly, maybe due to the power of the arrow, his blood steamed in the snow, as the space where his head had been was still leaking. His body lay still, arms limp at his sides, cloak splayed like wings beneath him.
One moment he had been standing, ready to head to the Eight Peak. And the next? He was dead.
This wouldn't be a problem, except for one thing?
Lilith's lips moved, almost involuntarily, voicing her thoughts. "Why isn't he healing?"
Thorn dropped to his knees beside the body, his hands hovering uselessly over the neck. "No. No, no, no! Ren?!"
There was no answer. No twitch. No movement of skin and bone reminiscent of regeneration.
Thorn grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "Come on, you bastard, heal! You always heal—!"
But Ren wasn't healing.
