The Inquisitor laid in their own blood, the breaths coming sharp as knives, slicing slivers of their heart into bloodied ribbons.
The Requisition officer drew near. She drew close, knelt before them, and took their hand into her own. The fingers were cold, and despite their groping felt flimsy and loose like a mishapen stone tucked into a wall, ready to crumble.
She smiled. "I have news, Ser."
The Inquisitor smiled, through the blood and the dribbles of bile. "I...I don't have time."
The tears fell, without the Requisition officer knowing. Her arm slipped beneath their neck, lifting them up, and held the Inquisitor close to her chest.
In the silence, a raven croaked; and all the Requisition could do through a clogged, choked throat was, "Yes, Ser."