He had come to a single conclusion: I was a bad guy.

In a split second, the young officer could see it. Something I had sought to keep hidden, to bury deep down. The side of me that was born in a jail, surrounded by the scum of the earth. No matter how I had fought to distance myself from that, here I stood, smoking gun in hand. This life lay dormant in my blood, a singular gift from my mother that I didn't wish to accept.

I was a bad guy.

The officer seemed to take an age to fall to the ground. He clutched at his chest, clawing at the wound, hands shaking as they turned a glistening red. A cough racked its way up his throat, and with it came blood to stain his lips. He looked at me in fear. I forced myself to lower my arm, return my gun to its holster.

It felt as though I had stood there for hours, staring into his wide eyes, until Eponine barrelled into me. Throughout the whole exchange, she had stayed running, determined to get to my side. I scooped her up into my arms and turned: she would not see what I had done. I could not let her see my selfishness, the lengths in which I would go to save my own skin.

The kid had been innocent. He had just been doing his job. He didn't deserve what I had done to him.

I felt sick, but I kept walking. Walking, back to Eponine's shoe to slip it onto her icy toes. Back to the wall, boosting Eponine over with a call of warning to Jean. I could hear him celebrate quietly as Eponine appeared, taking her into his arms and spinning her around, making her giggle.

Despite the dead weight of dread nestling in my gut, I managed to scale the wall this time. Landing on my feet with a thud, Valjean turned to me with a grin, ready to congratulate me, until he saw the expression on my face. The grin fell, but he knew better than to ask me about it.

He would have heard the gunshot. He would have worked out what I had done.

"We better get moving," I said, briskly. The police station had pretty much been deserted in the early hours of the morning, but a civilian had likely heard the gun shot. It was only a matter of time before the dead man was found in the alley.

I pulled myself onto Misty's back with a huff, reaching down for Cosette's hand to pull her up to sit in front of me. Jean followed my lead, somehow managing to pull himself into the saddle while continuing to hold onto Eponine. Usually I would roll my eyes at him showing off. Instead, I urged Misty on, letting her maintain a walking pace. Anything faster would likely draw attention from sleeping civilians.

The gunshot had seemed so loud in the empty morning, rebounding off the walls of the alley. It had resonated deep in my core as my arm felt the recoil of the weapon. Eponine didn't turn once to see what I had done, didn't yelp or shriek. For that I was thankful, but concerned that such violence did not seem to affect her.

Holding onto the reins, my hands felt sticky and slick, my brain tracing back to the man clawing at his chest, smearing blood with his palms, coating his fingers. I could smell it now: the bite of iron in the air, the man's panicked breathing as his air escaped through the wound in his chest. I had hit his lung. It was a slow way to go. My hands tightened on the leather, fists shaking with the effort. I could feel the chill on my fingers, as though blood was cooling upon them, staining them red.

I had left that man in the alley. Not a dead man, not yet. A living, breathing man struggling against death. I had picked up Eponine and ran away, leaving the young officer to die, scared and alone, drowning as blood filled his lung.

He may be alive still. May be cursing my name at this very moment. The moment he slipped away, it would be final. I would be a murderer.

I could have tried to save him. If he breathed, surely there was a chance. But I left, selfish. Showing my true colours, saving my own worthless hide.

He didn't deserve what I had done. He just wanted to do his job, to stop the bad guy. He didn't deserve to be left to die. Didn't deserve a selfish man with a gun.

What had happened, no one deserved that.

No one.

Except me.

I deserved it. I deserved all of it, to lie down in the bed I had made and feel the deadly shot destroy my chest, to take the life I would someday live. I wished I could stop myself, let him pull the trigger, anything to save me from this guilt. To trade places and let myself die in that alley. My life was not more important than his.

My nails were digging into my palms now, drawing blood to aid in staining them further red. My breath caught in my throat as the weight of my decision sat on my chest. I couldn't breathe, suffocating on my own guilt. I closed my eyes against the sting of tears, fighting to keep the shakes at bay. Sweat laced my brow. I was going to be sick. Oh dear God, what do I do? I was going to be-

A warm weight settled on my hands, pulling me, somewhat, from my spiral. I opened my eyes in shock to find Cosette had clamped her hands over mine, holding tightly against the shaking. She didn't say anything, but as my breathing eased she leaned back against me, her warmth a comfort.

I took a deep breath, the expelled air catching wisps of her short hair. She managed to tie me back to earth, stopped me from being dragged under. I had no idea how she knew what to do, but I was grateful.

I had to keep myself together, at least for now. After all, we were almost there. We were almost done. Then we would part ways. The plan was to leave the girls where they would be happy. The plan was to take Jean back to jail. The plan was return to normal life.

But the plan was going to have to change.