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103

Camila

I’ve seen this before. This exact scene. Asher lying in a pool of his own blood, dying right in front of my eyes. The last time it was just a nightmare.

This is real.

“Asher! Asher, no! Asher! Get up!” I cry.

Yannick keeps his hold on me as I struggle to escape. He ignores how I fight, turning around to grin wolfishly at Roman. “Molodets, son! You got him!”

It clicks with me then—I understand what’s happened. No longer struggling, I instead turn, staring in disbelief at Roman. His face is pale as old milk. He’s gripping a pistol that looks massive in his tiny hands.

“Roman?” I whisper.

He sniffles, starting to shake, the tremors coming faster and more violent by the second. “I … I …” he stammers.

Beaming with sadistic delight, Yannick turns again so he can see Asher. “You should have fired when you had the chance, Asher. I guess you don’t have the courage of a ten-year-old. Or maybe you’re just weak. Did Camila’s kindness soften your backbone? Hm?” He cups his ear. “No response
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