A sob shook his body, violently ripping any remaining oxygen from his deflated lungs as he stared at the dark red substance that stained his fingers. Blood. Still warm, direct from a cold, shuddering heartbeat. The last heartbeat.
He fell to his knees, curling his hands into tight fists as he bawled. His face twisted into an insane half smirk, half sneer as he gazed at her body.
He did what he had to do. Hal would have died otherwise.
But it wasn't the murder that pained him. It was the fact that he'd enjoyed killing a fellow human being.
He'd finally snapped.