Still.
Silence followed.
Blood began to spread beneath his head, dark and thick, seeping into the ground in slow, obscene patterns.
My breath caught.
Completely.
My chest locked.
My body froze.
For a moment—I couldn’t process what I had just seen.
Then it hit me.
Hard.
My heart seized so violently I thought it might stop entirely.
I whipped my head toward the source of the shot.
Two men emerged from the shadowed archway of the main building.
The first—Matteo.
Violet’s father.
Mid-fifties.
His dark hair streaked with silver, though it didn’t dull his presence in the slightest.
His suit was tailored, immaculate, entirely out of place in the chaos surrounding him.
But he wore it with ease, confidence and control.
He walked like a man who had never been questioned in his life.
Like a man who expected obedience from the world.
The second—
I couldn’t breathe.
My lungs locked instantly.
Impossible.
My mind rejected what I was seeing before my eyes could fully process it.
Vasquez.
My father.
The same sharp jawline.
The same cold hazel eyes.
