Arwin couldn’t bring himself to say something on the spot. Any words that may have been prepared to slip from between his lips would have been ones that hadn’t had time to properly mull over the gravity of the story that Rodrick and Anna had just told them.

Nobody said a word for several long seconds. Tension and unease weighed down on the room like anchors on every single one of their backs. There was a part of Arwin that wanted to dismiss the story outright — to say that he didn’t care who Rodrick and Anna had once been. To say that the only thing that mattered was who they were now.

That part of him was wrong. He and Lillia knew more than anyone that they couldn’t dismiss their past. They couldn’t just pretend it didn’t exist. It would have been wrong, not just to the people that had fallen at their hand, but to themselves. Ignoring a problem did not make it go away. It would have been a disservice to Anna.

But what a problem this was. A child had every right to live — but did they have the right to kill? Arwin wasn’t so sure he knew the answer. He wasn’t so sure there was an answer. Anna had known what she was doing, but she’d been manipulated into doing it, at least to a degree.

Anna might have done wrong in the past, but you can’t right wrong with more wrong. It’s evident that she regrets her past and wants to right those wrongs. How hypocritical would I be if I told her to leave? She may not have the same past as Lillia and I, but she wants the same future.

As Arwin opened his mouth to try and say something to split the thickening air, he found that someone else beat him to the punch. It was Madiv who finally broke the silence.

“It is the basest desire of any being to live,” Madiv said. “It is more than a desire. It is a right. A right that Anna both indulged in and took from others. When a predator kills its prey, has it done wrong?”

“That isn’t the same thing,” Anna said, her hands clenched and her voice stiff. “I am not asking you to cover for me. We didn’t tell you this to get pity. I am—”

“Awaiting judgement. You requested our thoughts, but you do not want to hear them,” Madiv said sharply. His tone carried the weight of a mountain, spoken like they had been barked from the mouth of an old, grizzled commander rather than the prim and proper vampire.

Arwin’s eyes widened slightly. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the warrior that Madiv had once been.

“I think I know what Madiv is saying,” Olive said softly. “And he’s not justifying your actions, Anna. It was a genuine question. And the answer is yes. You can’t fault a killer for killing, but a killer can’t fault you for defending yourself. I’m just not entirely sure that applies to humans.”

“Humans are so arrogant.” Madiv’s lips pulled back in a smirk. “They all believe they are greater than animals. You are smarter than animals — though that statement applies to only a small portion of your species. But intelligence does not separate you from life. It simply makes it harder to understand. There is a difference between a killer that kills because it loves to kill and one that kills because it must live.”

“I didn’t have to kill, though!” Anna exclaimed, pounding a fist into the counter beside her as her eyes prickled with tears. “Don’t you understand? I chose to kill. I didn’t want to die, so I let myself become a weapon. I’m a healer. Not—”

“You are wrong.” Madiv’s words carved through Anna’s like a knife. Her back stiffened and she froze in place. The vampire took a step forward and thrust a finger in her direction. “You may not wish to be a killer, but your story says otherwise. You are a killer, Anna. And it is not just you. I am a killer. Arwin is a killer. Lillia is a killer. Reya and Olive are killers. Rodrick is a killer. We are all killers. You come to us seeking absolution in our judgement, but we cannot give it to you.”

“Why not?” Anna’s voice broke and she swallowed, trying and failing to find words as her arms trembled at her sides. Her hands tightened into fists and she wiped at her face with a sleeve again before repeating, her voice so soft that Arwin could barely hear it, “Why not?”

“Because the dead are dead,” Madiv replied simply. “And nothing will ever change that. Even if every single one of us announced that the blood split with your aid meant nothing, it would change nothing. They are still dead. Your guilt makes you seek answers, but answers are not a solution. You are looking in the wrong place. There is only one person in this room that can give you the answer you need to hear, and it is not any of us.”

“I’m not just looking for validation! I’m warning—”

“You are not,” Madiv barked. “Look around you. Does a single face in this room hold fear? Do you see anyone reaching for their weapons? Any emotion in their eyes but care and concern? The one you must seek counsel from is yourself. No other can forgive you.”

“But the people who are dead because of me…”

“Are dead,” Madiv said firmly. “And you may seek their forgiveness when you pass into the next world. My personal suggestion would be to meet them along with the lives of everyone you have saved in the wake of their passing, but do as you wish.”

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Anna’s gaze traced across the room, but Madiv was right. There was a wide variety of emotions playing across the Menagerie’s faces, but not a single person was looking at Anna with any less trust than they had before.

Arwin wouldn’t have gone so far as to say that they forgave her for what she’d done. Madiv was right — it wasn’t their place to forgive her. They hadn’t been involved, and it wasn’t like any of them were without history of their own.

“Madiv has been doing the talking for all of us, but he’s said what I would have liked to better than I could have managed it,” Arwin said. “I have an understanding of how you feel, Anna.”

“I… our situations aren’t the same,” Anna said. “You didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” Arwin agreed. “And perhaps that absolves me to some degree. But it was still my blade. It was still my lack of desire to look deeper into the truth. There were people around me who figured out there was more to the war than I believed, but they did not think I could be trusted with that knowledge. They may have been right. I do not know. I never will — but I can’t make up the damage I did through regret. I will not be asking you to leave the Menagerie. If you decide to do that on your own, I will not stop you.”

“Nor will I,” Lillia added. “It would solve nothing, and it’s pretty evident you didn’t want to do what you did. There are people with justifiable grudges against you, but it I don’t think its anyone in this room. And I think it goes without saying that I can’t find fault in anything Rodrick did. Good people die in conflict. Sometimes it comes down to your life or theirs, and only an idiot would blame you for choosing yours.”

“If you ask me, I don’t even think it’s fair to blame a child for the entirety of their actions,” Olive said, setting her jaw. “You were being kept there, and it’s easy to lose sight of the greater picture when there’s something you really desire right in front of you. The Inquisitors took advantage of you. I’m not going to blame the victim — and the fact that you think you’re anything but a victim just proves that you were. How old were you when you joined the Inquisitors?”

Anna didn’t respond instantly. She swallowed and managed to find her words, but her voice faltered as she spoke. “Nine.”

“Nine,” Olive repeated. “Reya, what were you doing when you were nine?”

Reya tilted her head to the side for a moment. “It depends what part of that year we’re talking about. I think I lived alone for the most part, but I recall being part of a gang for a little while. I didn’t last long. They wanted me to help them stick someone, but I stuck one of them on accident.”

“Okay, forgot you’ve got a whole lot more shit than you let on. Maybe you weren’t the best example of this,” Olive muttered. She glanced at Arwin, then over to Lillia. Her eye twitched. “Godspit. Every single one of you is messed in the head. I forgot.”

Anna, midway through a sniffle, snorted. She doubled over in a coughing fit as she choked and Rodrick clapped her on the back, an appreciative look flickering over his features before he wiped it clean. Anna kept her face buried in her sleeve as she coughed. She managed to gather herself and tried to wipe the moisture from her features.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like this.” Anna’s voice was muffled behind her hands. “This wasn’t how I wanted to broach this. It just all came back so fast.”

“We killed a few assholes,” Rodrick put in helpfully as he rubbed Anna’s back. “They had it coming, for the record. Anna’s not in shape to say it, but I am. Thank you. We’ve come to love it here. If there’s any future for us, we’d like to find it among you all.”

“I think there are worse places to try and make up for past mistakes from,” Arwin said gently. “I can’t absolve anyone from their history, but I think the only steps anyone can take toward righting past mistakes is making a better tomorrow.”

The rest of the Menagerie all nodded. The tenson in the air faded as Anna tried and failed to muffle her tears. Everyone did their absolute best to pretend they couldn’t hear it. Words were only that. Words. They couldn’t truly fix anything, but it was all any of them could offer — and hopefully, they would be enough.

They were all silent for several seconds.

Then Reya cleared her throat.

“Not to infringe on the moment — I completely agree with everything Arwin said, by the way — but who exactly did you guys kill?”

“Ah,” Rodrick said. “That would have been a few Falling Blades. Melissa headed out to get her Milten estate back and we decided to go give her a little help. She won, by the way.”

“She did? Wait. How did you know the assassins came for her?” Arwin asked, blinking in surprise. “When did that even happen?”

“I… may have slightly underplayed the extent of my information gathering network.”

“Network? I thought you were just talking to people,” Arwin said, looking from Anna to Rodrick. “In the spirit of being open with each other, care to elaborate?”

Rodrick winced. Then he let out a sigh. “This might take a while.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t going anywhere,” Lillia said.

Anna let out a weak laugh and finally managed to pull her head from within her sleeves, her eyes slightly bloodshot and the tip of her nose tinged red. “Thank you. All of you. I need some time to think, but I’ll give you all a proper response later. I promise. And Rodrick, talk fast. Who knows how long Esmerelda is going to keep Wallace busy.”

“You left Wallace with Esmerelda?” Arwin asked.

“One catastrophe at a time, please,” Rodrick said. “I’m sure Esmerelda will be fine. It’s Wallace’s ears I’m more worried about. Now, do you want to hear my bit or not?”

Arwin cleared his throat and gestured for Rodrick to continue. “Please.”

Several seconds passed as Rodrick gathered his thoughts. The warrior interlaced his fingers before him and let out a slow slight.

“I may have underplayed the extent of my abilities,” Rodrick said, letting a second of silence drag on before he continued. “Nobody is better at subterfuge and infiltration than the Secret Eye. They could get information from everything ranging from a fish to a man.”

“Torture?” Reya asked in a fearful whisper.

“Is a tool mostly reserved to the Inquisitors,” Rodrick said, his lips pressing thin in distaste. “And a tool that I am more familiar with than I would like. But far more than that. They had a rather extensive library containing all of their techniques and history. Hundreds of years of strategy, much of it buried within books pages that nobody has bothered taking a glance at in years. Cutting-edge knowledge. Old knowledge. Ancient techniques, some forbidden and some forgotten. And I — well, I had a lot of free time. I read them. Every single one of them.”