Dea tilts her head, feigning curiosity. "Did I?"
Lightning flashes. For a fraction of a second, the rooftop glows stark white. In that instant, Elias sees it—her hand shifting inside her coat.
"Don’t," he warns.
She grins. "Or what? You’ll shoot a child?"
She lunges.
Elias fires. A single shot. The sound is swallowed by the storm.
But Dea moves like a ghost. The bullet rips through empty air. She twists, a flicker of silver in her fingers—a needle, thin and gleaming, inches from Elias’s throat. He barely dodges, slamming an elbow into her side. She stumbles but doesn’t fall. Instead, she laughs.
"You see, Elias, you keep thinking this is about winning." She steps back, arms outstretched. "But it’s about understanding. And you? You still don’t."
Then she falls.
