Walter was exhausted. Down to the marrow kind of tired. The kind that sleep doesn’t fix.

What started in a high school classroom had spiraled into something monstrous, a life stitched together by lies, blood, and blue sky. The thrill of control, the rush of precision, God, he could still taste it. But underneath all that? A man running on fumes.

So he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, and sinks into the couch. Head back, eyes closed.

For once, the world is quiet. And in that rare silence, he lets himself feel something close to peace. Just for a moment.