"You press that trigger, Bisma, and you seal her death warrant before her body even hits the floor."
Minister Vance spoke with a terrifying, smooth composure that made the blood in Bisma's veins turn to pure ice. The old politician did not flinch, even as the cold steel barrel of Bisma's sidearm pressed firmly against the bridge of his nose. Outside the heavy oak doors of the private library, the muffled thunder of automatic gunfire vibrated through the floorboards, each sharp detonation sounding like a ticking clock marking down the remaining seconds of Meira's life.
Bisma’s knuckles turned bone-white around the grip of his pistol. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and hot against the crisp, air-conditioned silence of the study. Everything in his soul begged him to pull the trigger. F
