His breath was frozen in his throat. Dry, like a desert of countless hectares. Her hand still clung to him… until reflexively - conditioned or provoked, or both at the same time - he turned to the shadow standing a couple of meters from her.
Alexa's eyes found him. Just there, like one of those inert lamp posts. It was Luke, but he couldn't be there. It was a mirage. It was the loathsome reality that was plummeting; like the morning sun.
She saw Luke's pale face, his dull eyes — as you would expect from someone who has stopped blinking for a good fraction of a moment — and the gun, on the gravel. Motionless and as lifeless as the supposed owner of it ... or as Santino ...
Santino ...
No. No ... Santino ...
The shot. The echo of it. Blood gushing from the point-blank hole.
The one res
