The sauna still smelled of sweat, rust, and blood.

Billy sat slumped in the corner, bare-chested, knuckles split from punching the wall. The heat was gone, leaving only silence and the memory of what he'd done.

Or what had been done through him. The Flayer was quiet now, but not gone. Memories slipped through his grasp. His mother. The ocean. Better days. All fading. The door creaked open.

Billy flinched.

Light spilled across the floor, cutting through the shadows. His shirt hung forgotten beside him, and for once he didn't reach for it.

He stayed still, trembling and exhausted. A wounded wolf too tired to growl.

Let them see.