~Morgan's Point Of View~
The silence that follows the sound of tearing flesh is louder than any howl.
Morgan stands perfectly still, his hands tucked into his pockets casually. He watches and doesn't blink. He can't afford to. The rogue leader's claw is yellowed, jagged, and caked in the filth of a dozen kills. It dips into Grayson's chest with a sickening squelch. It's the sound of a boot sinking into wet mud, only the mud is his brother's lungs, and the boot is an executioner's hand.
Grayson doesn't scream. He hasn't the air for it. Instead, he looks at Morgan and mouths a: Will always love you… brother.
It's a look and words that Morgan will carry into the depths of hell: a mixture of profound sorrow and a weird, lingering hope that Morgan might still, at the very last millisecond, pull a rabbit out of a hat.
