"STOP!"
The sharp scream cut through the tense air like a blade, the desperation in the voice halting everything in its tracks.
Lilith's finger froze just before pulling the trigger completely. The gun was still pressed firmly against Liam's forehead, her grip steady, her expression void of hesitation. She had already applied pressure—just a fraction more, and his brains would have been splattered across the dirt.
But something made her stop.
Something—or rather, someone.
She slowly turned her head, her cold gaze flickering toward the source of the voice.
There, standing at the edge of the cliff, panting, his face drenched in sweat, his hands slightly trembling, was Dickson.
Liam's lungs finally expanded.
His whole body had locked up in anticipation of death itself. He had seen it coming, felt it in the way Lilith's hand never wavered. The pressure of the barrel against his skull had been a death sentence waiting to be signed.
And yet—
By some miracle, Dickson came back.
