The silence in the villa stretched long. Then hurried footsteps came from upstairs. Jiang Yan appeared at the top of the stairs, his face pale, and when his eyes landed on the scene before him, he froze in place. For a moment, he couldn't move, his breath caught in his throat.
Slowly, his stiff legs carried him down step by step, until he stood near his brother. Jiang Lin stood there like a statue, his eyes empty and fixed on the sight of their father lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Without saying a word, Jiang Yan moved closer. He reached out, his hands trembling only slightly, and carefully took the gun from Jiang Lin's hands. He then bent down, placed one hand on the side of Jiang Lin's head, and pulled him against his chest, holding him tightly, as if that embrace alone could shield him from the horror in front of them.
