Chapter 23

• The sound of the gunshot still rang in Clara’s ears. It was loud, sharp, and final, like a crack of thunder that wouldn’t fade. Her hands trembled as she stood there, frozen, staring at the man on the ground. He had slumped forward the moment the noise exploded, his body now still and limp. A dark puddle of blood spread beneath him, soaking into the cracked concrete floor. The smell hit her next—thick, metallic, like rusted iron mixed with something sour. It made her stomach turn, but she couldn’t look away.
• Clara’s chest felt tight. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her finger still hovered near the trigger of the gun in her hand, even though she hadn’t known it was empty when she pulled it. The click of the empty chamber had surprised her almost as much as Dante’s cold, calculating stare after it happened. She had acted first, aiming at the man Dante had brought into this dark, dusty room. She hadn’t wanted to do it, but Dante had pushed her—forced her to make a choice.
• And she had chosen.