The first thing Adrian tasted was blood.
Thick. Metallic. Warm. It slid down the back of his throat like a promise he never asked for.
He couldn’t breathe.
The world tilted, swaying around him as he stumbled backward, clutching his side. His knees buckled. His vision blurred at the edges. The taste of iron deepened. He could feel it—death—coiling around his ribs, sinking into his lungs.
He heard her scream.
“Adrian!”
Sarah's voice cracked in the distance—high, frantic, false.
He looked up, pain dragging every blink. And there she was, standing over him in that red dress he once called his favorite. Her mascara ran in thin, perfect lies.
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But Adrian didn't look at her.
His eyes locked on the man behind her. The one holding the gun.
Matt Wilson.
His best friend. His brother in all but blood. The one who stood by his side through college, heartbreak, life—
And now stood holding the smoking weapon that tore it all apart.
Adrian tried to speak, but coughed instead—blood flecking his lips, thick and final.
They were together.
They lied to him.
They planned this.
Rage curled in his chest, dulling the pain, if only for a second. His blood soaked into the concrete below. He could feel his body growing cold, too fast.
Five years.
Five years of love. Of loyalty. Of blind trust.
All for nothing.
If he had another chance…
Another breath…
Another life…
He'd take it.
And he'd burn them both.
Then he heard it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
A soft, rhythmic sound cut through the chaos.
The golden pocket watch in his jacket—cracked, its glass spiderwebbed with fractures—tick-tick-ticked steadily against his chest.
He’d bought it that morning, almost as an afterthought. From an old woman with a strange smile, at a roadside flower stall where he picked up a hairpin for Sarah.
She said it would bring him luck.
And just before the darkness swallowed him whole…
He swore he saw the second hand start to move backward.
