Elias didn't feel pity. He felt envy. They were finished with the hard part.
He returned to a small, fortified cellar in the basement of an old brownstone. Inside, sitting on a crate, was Sarah. She wasn't his daughter—his daughter had died in the first wave in Austin—but she had the same stubborn set to her jaw. She was twelve, born into a world where "sky" was something you only saw through reinforced glass or from the bottom of a trench. last of us
He played a few chords. The sound was bright, piercing the heavy dampness of the cellar. "Teach me the one about the moon again," Sarah whispered. Elias didn't feel pity