The Predator

Blood was nothing new to me. It painted my hands like a second skin, crusted under my nails, and seeped into the fabric of my soul. But tonight, it felt heavier—different. It wasn’t just someone else’s blood. It was mine, hers, ours.

Revenge. That was all that ever mattered. Should’ve mattered. The driving force. The dynamics of the event horizon I built around myself ever since I realised the darkness that flowed inside my veins was darker than the black hole itself. The poison I drank every morning and the cure I swore by every night. It kept me alive when I should’ve been dead. It carved me...