Chapter 44: The Devil’s Trigger
Some sounds didn’t belong in the Tower.
The Tower moans, whispers, purrs. It seduces and entangles. It doesn’t crack. So when the sound of a gunshot shattered the air like a hammer through glass, my body locked mid-step, heart stuttering with dread and recognition.
No magic, no illusion, no fantasy.
Just brass, powder, and death. A sound from another world.
And I knew exactly who pulled the trigger.
I moved.
The soft grass underfoot seemed suddenly thicker, clinging to my boots like it wanted to hold me back. Pillars flanked me on either side, wrapped in flowering vines that shivered without wind. I ducked low, breath shallow, vision cutting through the darkness in long slashes.
And then I saw him.
Vincent Lacona.
He stood ahead in the clearing, half-shadowed by the moonlight that filtered through the illusory sky above. He looked untouched—perfect, as always. One hand rested lazily on the butt of his coat, the other held a pistol like it was born there. Before him lay a woman. Her chest was already caved in, blood painting the grass in wide arterial arcs.
She reached toward him, fingers trembling. Her mouth opened, rasping something I couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter.