The flashing red and blue lights outside the motel painted streaks across the faded wallpaper of the room. Alina sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling, dried blood smudged on her wrist from Jake’s grip. The metallic scent of gunpowder lingered in the stale air, mixed with the faint traces of Jake’s blood still staining the floor.
Adrian stood near the shattered door, his broad frame rigid, his eyes distant and cold. His gun was gone—hidden, disposed of somewhere between the chaos and his calculated calm. He was eerily still, his dark eyes betraying nothing of the storm raging inside him.
The paramedics arrived first, stepping over the broken door and Jake’s lifeless body with clinical precision. Alina couldn’t look at Jake—not after everything.
He was gone, she thought. Just l
