The click echoed louder than any gunshot ever could.
It was hollow. Empty.
For a second, neither of us moved. Theodore didn’t even flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine, not even a flicker of surprise crossing his face. As if he’d known. As if he’d expected this—me, standing here like a cornered animal, desperate enough to try and shoot him, stupid enough not to check if the gun was loaded.
My hand trembled around the gun. It felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of everything I couldn’t say.
"No bullets," he said calmly, like he was pointing out the weather. "But I admire the attempt."
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was tight with everything I didn’t want to feel. The humiliation. The rage. The fact that I had almost become a murderer.
Theodore took the gun from m
