Kira was not a foolish girl. Nor was she ignorant of the world.
She had lived long enough—barely past her eighteenth year—to know that fate was not kind, that the world was not merciful, and that no one truly escaped the weight of their choices.
That was why, from the very first moment she made her move, she had already foreseen the shape of her end.
Yes, she knew perfectly well that she would rot in prison—and that would be the least of it. Execution was far more likely.
But she wasn't afraid. Not in the way most people would be. Kira was not the kind of person to run from reality, nor was she the sort to desperately twist and claw her way free of fate. She had accepted, almost serenely, that she had traded her freedom—and perhaps her life—for this one irreversible act.
So that night, she waited.
