The battlefield lay still behind them, swallowed up by the choking fog. They'd found a half-sunken bunker on the edge of the building—its roof partially caved in, a few broken crates and rusted ammo boxes scattered around. But it was safe. Or at least, safer than out there.
Andrew sat on a dented crate, legs stretched out, breathing slow and ragged.
Marrow leaned against a wall, sword balanced across his shoulders like a bored ronin.
The rogue shadow, ever loyal, paced just beyond the entrance like a guard dog on patrol.
"I still don't get why you stuck around," Andrew said suddenly.
Marrow looked over.
"You could've vanished after the Choirmaster. Hell, you could've stabbed me when my back was turned. Or after that dumb Key knocked me out."
The demon shrugged, gaze shifting back to the dust-filled air.
"I have my reasons."
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "That's not ominous at all."
A long pause.
Then Andrew added, quieter, "I have mine too."
