Ila stepped into the car, her black hair gleaming under the lights, her teal eyes glinting with cruel amusement, her silver-threaded tunic pristine, untouched by the blood that marked her fallen self.
Her triumphant smile was a blade, cutting through Syn's dwindling resolve. "Whoa! Look at that," she said mockingly, her voice a melodic taunt as she glanced at her dead duplicate, crumpled like a discarded doll.
"I'm dead, just as I expected." She laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the confined space, her head tilting, her smile widening. "It's funny, isn't it? Looking at myself dead—one of the strongest in the Kingdom, laid low. It doesn't suit me, does it?" Her tone was playful, but her teal eyes bored into Syn, drinking in his fear, his confusion, her mockery a weapon as sharp as any blade.
Syn's mind reeled, his breath ragged, his hands trembling as he gripped the pistol, its metal warm from his earlier shots.
