It wasn’t him.

Corvin’s pulse quickened as he stared at the Enforcer, whose face haunted Corvin nearly every night.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been.

Sebren was dead- or at least that’s what Corvin had believed. But yet, he couldn’t shake the fear gripping his chest and squeezing his heart.

The boy took a step forward, his uniform helmet long abandoned. His eyes darted around the group of Rebels, they were an icy blue, the same color that made Corvin shiver every time they met his. “Please,” the young man began, “I’m here to join the rebellion.”

Corvin’s head pounded, the rhythmic drum of his heart beat drowning out the sounds of battle and taking over his every nerve. His grip tightened around his rifle as the man took another staggering step. Even his blonde hair reminded Corvin of Sebren, the way it fell over his eyes, the way the flashing red lights bounced off the strands. His hands became slick the muscles in his legs grew numb.

The boy looked at him pleadingly, and Corvin’s body froze, blood running cold.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in a capitol building, fighting alongside rebels. Instead he was twelve again. Cold. Scared. Begging for Sebren to let him go. Tears welled up in his eyes as Corvin remembered how Sebren had forced him to beg for his pathetic life. Once again, he couldn’t be saved from that man.

Maeve said something from behind him, but the voices came muffled to Corvin. Every voice but one- his.

“I’m not the enemy.” His voice was a whisper, a mockery of Corvin’s fear.

The fear clawing its way up Corvin’s spine snapped like a too-tight thread. The rage and fear he’d carried for years blinded him, blocking out sound, every rational thought.

His fingers curled around the butt of his riffle, his arms tensed before he even realized his body was moving.

Then came the snap of bones.

Corvin didn’t know at what point he’d pounced on him, or how hard he’d bashed the rifle’s end into the Enforcer’s familiar face. But it filled him with something dangerous- _relief_. Like his chains dropped from his sides. Like he was finally free of his tormentor.

Finally, Sebren was being punished for what he’d done to Corvin- to Theni and all the other kids who suffered her same fate at the camp. Her small broken body- her death finally meant something.

Again and again. The sound flooded out everyone’s gasps, their loud shock as Corvin’s gun was drenched in the man’s blood. His arms ached as he brought the gun down, tearing away flesh, cracking bone. Blood splattered onto Corvin’s face- it got into his mouth but he didn’t care because Sebren was finally _dead_.

A scream tore its way out of Corvin, his eyes screaming and throat tearing.

Two hands pulled at Corvin’s shoulders and pried him from the broken and bloody corpse. His hands flew to his knife in seconds. The hands still gripped his shoulders as he pointed the steel edge to their throat.

His little sister’s fearful eyes stared back at him. Maeve breathed heavy as her hands cupped Corvin’s messy face in an attempt to stop him.

“Stop,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Please, Corvin.”

He shook, the blade still pressed deeply into her neck. He watched in horror as a drop of blood- her blood dripped into his fingers.

_“I trust you.” _

The blade clattered against the floor. Corvin took a step back, hand pressed to his mouth to suppress his sobs. Maeve gripped her throat in an attempt to stop the shallow wound from bleeding further.

She nodded, still keeping eye contact with Corvin. “I trust you.” She repeated, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

Corvin’s body was sticky from the blood. He turned back to the body, his chest heaving. It was done. Sebren’s face was unrecognizable- a tangle of torn flesh, cracked skull, and pools of blood. Through Corvin’s anger, he remembered-

That wasn’t Sebren.

The corpse lying five feet away from Corvin’s shaking and sweat drenched body was not the man who bought him, who sold him. Who’d broken him. It was just a kid.

A scared kid dressed in the wrong uniform with the wrong face.

“Corvin?” Maeve’s voice was quiet, her hand rested on his shoulder. He could feel her pull away. He could feel her fear, her distrust.

_That’s not Sebren. _

Nausea crept up his throat, squeezing and choking him. His eyes swelled up with hot and heavy tears.

That’s not Sebren.

Maeve didn’t flinch as Corvin began to cry. As his shoulders shook and his bloody face streaked with tears, she didn’t look away. He knew his sister, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Slowly, inevitably, she wrapped her arms around her brother.

A cry escaped his chest. He sounded like an animal, wild and devastated.

That was Corvin’s forst kill.

And as he stood there, covered in his own blood, surrounded by strangers that feared him, he asked himself-

_Is this what surviving costs?_