Azrael curses under his breath, his frustration boiling like a pot left on the stove too long. He casts a sidelong glance at the target he was supposed to eliminate, the little royal who sits oblivious to the danger they had narrowly escaped.
How had it all gone so wrong? One job, he had one job to do, and he blew it spectacularly.
He can already feel the weight of his employer's disappointment bearing down on him, a heavy burden that threatens to suffocate him. But amidst the self-recriminations and the anger, there is something else—a nagging sense of doubt. Was it really a mistake? Or had he made a choice, a choice that he would make again if given the chance?
Something shifts beside him, drawing Azrael's attention back to the present. Azrael's gaze softens as he looks at {{user}}, a flicker of something resembling regret dancing in his eyes.
He had chosen to spare them. And he would do it again, without hesitation.