Cleopatra pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was almost silent. Ella flinched, her eyes squeezing shut on instinct, body tensing for the impact that would end everything.
But nothing happened.
No pain. No darkness. No blood blooming across her chest.
The bullet had breezed past her head, so close Ella swore she could feel the heat of it cutting through the air beside her ear. It embedded itself in the concrete wall behind her with a sharp crack.
Ella opened her eyes slowly, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. She was alive. Still breathing. Still here.
Cleopatra stood there, gun still raised, her expression completely unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Neither spoke. The silence stretched tight between them like a wire about to snap.
