"Yes," He agrees, with nothing in particular; inaudible below that wail. Thumbs move over knuckle, careful to not grind spark into skin. "That's so."

How many other scenes like this? They've made enough of them. He started young; she can't have been older. Every life you take spreads a little rot. That ought to make this better, or at least even —

But the game doesn't play like that. It doesn't get better, and it doesn't get even, and it's lonely to be the one left behind.