He loomed over Richard, who sat with his back pressed against the wooden wall, a dagger lodged in his chest. Richard gasped, eyes locked on Shiro, still trying to understand how he was alive with a blade buried in his heart.
"When did you know?" The words barely made it past his lips.
Shiro didn't answer right away. He sat down behind him, one knee up, back pressed against the same wall. His eyes drifted to the ceiling light dangling with the sway of the ship.
"Tell me, Graystone."
He let the name hang in the air like a threat.
Richard let out a broken chuckle. "Using my last name." Another weak breath. "I guess I hit a nerve."
And he had.
A last name wasn't given, it was earned. Carried. It meant you were worthy enough to stand beside the family that bore it. To not have one meant the opposite, that you weren't worth claiming. That your blood wasn't enough. And to use someone's last name without permission wasn't just disrespectful.
It was a death sentence.
