He was the last of their Cluster.
Whispers stood outside the man's house, a match in hand.
"Goodbye, Roshan," he couldn't help but… taunt? Gloat? Warn him? No, that last one didn't sound right. Never mind that, now.
He lit the match.
"Milton, wait!" said Roshan, simultaneously clinging to Whispers' coat and untangling himself from his bedcovers. "You don't have to do this! We can work something out!"
Whispers dropped the match. The trail of gasoline caught light. Roshan screamed.
"I can forgive you! Forgive and forget about what you- what you did to the others! Just spare me!" Whispers gave no reply. "Please!"
Whispers watched the fire lap up the sides of Roshan's modest house. He watched both from the street where he stood, and from the inside, where Roshan struggled to break through the barricade Whispers had constructed. Roshan was trapped. He couldn't breathe.
Whispers is the last.