In the ruins of the old city the quiet was almost oppressive; old stone haunted by the absence of people. He was surprised, at first, that he found her here after so long searching. But she had been born and raised within these walls: of course she would come back to die.

He stopped beside her. She did not turn to face him. “Hello.”

“Hello.” It was anticlimactic the way they fell into old patterns.

“You’ve hurt so many people.” They both knew what he really meant was, ‘you hurt me’.

“I know.” She stood tall. He didn’t see the way her hands trembled.

“You’re not sorry.” The man’s normally expressive face was blank; hands curled into fists at his side.

“I’m not.”  It was hardly a whisper.

Small hands came up to push back her hood and she turned to face him fully. Her skin was ashy in the weak sunlight, her waist length hair, normally a black so deep it was almost blue, hung lank and limp down her back. Now that he could see her face, he could tell she was dangerously thin. She had been so good and sweet and kind. And now… He clenched his fist. Even if she was a fugitive, he was her best friend, her first friend, and her oldest friend.

She was his precious baby sister.

“Why?” He took a single step toward her.

Her facade faltered, cracking and falling to the ruined stone under their feet. “You know why.” She turned her face away.

He did know. The second to last time he had seen her, her hands had been stained a dark red. She had been beyond sorrow, tears falling onto the small body she held in her arms. The next time he had seen her, most of her had been stained a dark red. She had taken revenge; a life for a life. But the time for vigilante justice had passed, and the hearts of the people had shriveled and died. They bayed for her blood like hounds.

“No mother should have to bury their child.” Gray eyes glistened in the low light. “Please don’t ask me-” her voice broke.

He wouldn’t have asked. If she came back, she would be executed. But before they executed her, she would be turned over to the kin of the wronged parties for them to extract their justice. They would torture her, make her life a living hell, only to turn her over to the executioners who would send her to the afterlife. He had set out to find her to prevent that exact scenario.

“This will be the last time.” He said. He felt bleak and empty.

She looked at him, confusion momentarily twisting her features. One heartbeat, two, and then comprehension hit. She stared at him.

“This will be the last time.” He repeated, drawing a plain dagger from a hidden sheathe. He loved her too much to leave her to the fate that awaited her.

She opened her arms as if for an embrace. “Thank you, brother.”

She only registered pain after it was over. A delicate hand came up to grasp his forearm weakly. She smiled. He bowed his head. And if a soft sob rang out against the cold stone walls, there was no one to hear it but him.