No, it is not. You, huntress, are the type determined to save. It is your failing.
Perhaps. The air continued to roll away from him, washing his darkness across me in fetid waves. I resisted the urge to step back, sensing I couldn't afford to show any form of weakness to this man.
If a man he was.
Right now, I wasn't so sure.
If I am the type to save, then what is your type? Because it wasn't me hunting on these fields, stranger.
He tilted his head sideways, and I had the sudden impression of a cat contemplating its prey. I was not hunting when you found me. My prey had been well and truly ensnared by the time we arrived here.
Why even hunt her in the first place? She was harmless—
No one who has the darkness within them is ever harmless, he cut in forcefully. The buildings around us shimmered, as if caught in a blast of heated air. She had to die. They all have to die.
I had a vague suspicion that if he'd had features I'd be seeing the glow of madness in his eyes right now. But why? Because you say so? Or is there an actual reason behind this madness?
There are always reasons. In this case, they are good ones. But they're not ones I wish to share just yet.
Meaning he intended to string me along just like he was the Directorate. So what has any of this got to do with me?
Ah, he said, and once again his voice was even, without inflection or emotion. It was weird—almost as if he flowed between humanity and not. The speed with which you found dear Dorothy impressed me. I thought it might be interesting if we had a little challenge.
What is the point of another challenge if you're only going to kill your victims anyway?
What if I were to offer a guarantee that I would not kill my next victims until their allotted time?
Why would I trust a man who can't keep his word? A man too scared to reveal his face or share his name?