I opened the door and stepped into the room, blood thrumming in my ears. The hairs on my arms stood up as a chill rolled down my spine. The dark room was lit by a single lantern on a small desk, its flickering glow making the shadows twist unnaturally. My eyes darted across the familiar space, every sense sharpening as I searched for danger. Knives lined the wall to the left of the door—perfectly arranged, meticulously clean. If I had to, I could reach one. Not that it would do much good. Trigger could hit a bullseye blindfolded at two hundred paces.

  My pulse jumped as I scanned the desk. Empty.

  Adrenaline surged just as a hand closed around my mouth. Hard.

  I jerked, ready to drop my weight, twist, strike low—when the scent of lavender wrapped around me. Familiar. Haunting.

  The hand released me. I spun, breath catching.

  He had been hiding behind the door. Trigger. The pale, gaunt figure with the sharp green hair somehow still looked calculated despite the disarray. He let the door shut softly behind him, his lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it didn't feel so...wrong.

  "Zandy. My little mouse hunter."

  The nickname made my skin crawl. I didn't react, though every muscle screamed at me, too. I braced for the blow, heart pounding as his hand lifted. But it landed on my back with a jarring pat instead of striking. I flinched anyway.

  His face was wrong.

  His sharp, hazel eyes were unfocused, his expression slack. His usual razor-sharp presence dulled and fogged over like a blade left in the rain.

  I maintained silence, deliberately averting my gaze to the floor. Engaging in eye contact could be perceived as a challenge. Tilting my gaze too low might render me vulnerable. Remain composed. Uphold neutrality.

  Trigger staggered, weaving toward the desk. The sharp scent of alcohol drifted from the bottle beside the lantern.

  "I've always thought I was a decent man," he muttered, voice almost slurred as he dropped into the chair, his boots hitting the desk with a loud thud. "Don't kill for fun. Don't waste bullets. Only break what you have to. Right, Zandy?"

  My lips parted, but no sound came. His eyes met mine, distant and strange.

  "Do you think I'm a good person?"

  The room felt like it was closing in. I shook my head quickly, then corrected. "Yes. Of course, sir."

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  His face twisted, rage flashing through the haze as he lurched forward, knocking the bottle over. "You're lying! Everyone keeps lying to me!"

  I held my ground, even as the tension wound tighter in my chest. He stumbled and caught himself against the desk, and the anger drained as quickly as it had come.

  Trigger never lost control.

  "I'm taking advantage of the people who have nobody left. I know it." His voice had dropped to a whisper. "But what else am I supposed to do? Let them rot?"

  The city had already rotted. It was just people left now.

  I said nothing, watching his every move. His back straightened suddenly, some thread of his old self snapping back into place. Trigger wasn't the type to spiral. Whatever this was...it wasn't weakness. It was dangerous.

  I inched back toward the wall.

  He noticed. His lips curled into that unnatural smile again. "Don't worry, little hunter. If I wanted you dead, I would have let Grady handle it."

  Grady. The scarred brute who watched me like a wolf circling prey. The reminder didn't ease the tension knotting my stomach.

  Trigger reached into his coat and withdrew something small. Something metal. The lantern light glinted off the polished barrel as he set the gun down on the desk with a soft click.

  "This is for you."

  My breath caught. "Why?"

  His eyes were half-lidded as he stared into the shadow. "I see things when I stop drinking. Terrible things. You... you'll need this. You're going to do great things, Zandy. Or horrible things. Maybe both."

  I didn't trust gifts. Not from

  My fingers itched for the gun, but I hesitated. It could be a test—it had to be. Trigger didn't give without strings.

  "Sir, maybe you should rest. Or let one of your guards-"

  "No!" His voice cracked as he stiffened, anger flaring back. "They can't see me like this."

  The bottle tipped again, spilling more liquid onto the desk. The alcohol scent burned my nose.

  I stared at him and then at the gun.

  "Terrible things are going to happen." Trigger smiled at me again. His head tilted sideways as he walked back to his desk, sat in his chair, and studied me with an unnerving grin. He had finally lost it.

  If he'd lost his sanity, he wouldn't be able to think clearly. I could steal something valuable without him knowing. I glanced around the room.

  "I've trained you well." He laughed and watched me with amusement.

  My eyes darted back to him, and the fear gripping my heart tightened. "Sir?"

  "You're planning to rob me while I'm vulnerable." Trigger's smile fell as he leaned on his desk. "But you'll change your ways soon. You'll become a hero." The ridiculous grin returned even wider. "Or a villain."

  I pushed aside the selfish urge to stay and find a way to steal any valuable items and instead trained my eyes on the ground. My cheek still stung from the last time Trigger lost his temper. I had to get back to my family. I couldn't risk it.

  Trigger pushed the gun closer to me. "Take the gun and leave. That's an order." He threw his head back and took another drink.

  I grabbed the gun quickly, not taking my eyes off him. Trigger just stared at the ceiling with a haunting smile. I quickly walked back towards the door without turning my back on him.

  "Goodbye, Zandy. I will see you again." His head hung to the side. "Maybe in a book. Maybe on a screen. Maybe...never." He trailed off, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes.

  I reached for the gun, fingers curling around the cold metal. It was heavier than I expected, solid, and unforgiving. I didn't look away from him as I carefully slipped it into my satchel.

  I thought of Grace and Mother.

  The door clicked shut behind me as I slipped past the group of criminals and back into the alley. The weight of the gun pressing against my hip felt like a promise.

  And I wasn't sure if that terrified me more than the man I was leaving behind.