Had Gavin ever cared about good and evil?

No. Not good and evil, nor right and wrong, but simply a set of morals to which he'd held himself before Rocket had dismantled them all. Once you'd killed once, what was a few more times? Once you'd buried a town, why not a city?

Once they'd conquered a region, why not the world?

It is as if the walls they'd torn down have been scattered; no matter how many pieces Gavin might pick up in a futile attempt to rebuild, that wall would never be the same. Crossed lines have been erased in their entirety. Blood washed from his hands exists forever in his nightmares.

Elisabeth understands.

It's why when she solemnly declares them family, the underboss inclines his head.

"I cannot make promises for the whole of Rocket, but I've got your back."

The castle's walls, no matter how sturdy, are subject to crumble at the onset of the tide. Their creation, much like the innocence of their youth, was doomed to be temporary.

Elisabeth Fiorelli