The gunshot echoed.
Sharp.
Final.
Then—
Silence.
Not peace.
Not relief.
Something heavier.
Something that stayed… and refused to leave.
Clifford's body jerked—
A violent, unnatural movement—
Then dropped.
Hard.
Still.
Too still.
For a moment, no one moved.
No one breathed.
The air itself felt frozen.
The three gunmen lowered their weapons almost at the same time.
Professional.
Clean.
Precise.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
Like they had done this a hundred times before.
Smoke curled slowly into the cold night air, fading… but not fast enough.
Not enough to erase what had just happened.
Jackson stood a few steps behind them.
Frozen.
His hand was still slightly raised—
Even though he hadn't pulled the trigger.
His throat tightened.
"…he's down."
His voice came out low. Dry.
Almost unfamiliar.
Dorian didn't respond immediately.
He stepped forward.
Calm.
Measured.
Controlled.
