And with that, she pulls the trigger.

Blood blossoms crimson against the pure white of his shirt. He stares down at the expanding stain as if it offends him.

And it should.

Slowly, he collapses to his knees, his outstretched hands opening and closing into impotent fists as he slumps forward.

I step back to avoid the spreading pool of blood. It is oddly hypnotic to watch it grow larger and larger as his heart pumps out the last bits of his life’s blood onto the cold stone floor.

The sound of metal clattering against that very same stone forces my eyes away from Cristobal’s final labored breaths. It is the musket, dropped to the ground, as if its weight had simply become too great to bear.

Kiki’s arm lowers by inches, slow, gradual. Where I expected to see triumph, there is only a blank sort of resignation.

“It’s done,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else.

I nod, stepping over Cristobal’s dying body to approach her. “Yes.”

She nods dully. Her eyes are distant like she isn’t seeing what’s right in front of her. And when she speaks, her words are not meant for me.

“I did it, Ale.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “He’s dead. You can rest now.”

I reach for Kiki. Nothing exists for me in this moment than her. Her pain. Her loss. And now, her triumph, if you can call it that.

That was my first mistake.

When Kiki opens her eyes, they settle on something behind me. Then, her eyes go wide.

I turn, but I can already tell I’m going to be too slow.

Sebastian is on his knees, his hand wrapped around a musket.

And it is pointed, not at me, but at Kiki.

His face twists into a panicked rictus. It takes less than a second for me to realize what he is doing and why.

What we know, what we have seen, will destroy him. It will destroy his father. His family.

“You should have just done what he wanted.”

Time slows, passing thick and viscous, as if we were all suspended in deep water.

I lunge for him.

I am not faster than a speeding bullet.

But I just need to be faster than a wounded man’s twitching finger.

But I am too slow. I put too much distance between us.

The thing about guns is that they’re hard to control. Once that trigger is pulled, that’s it. That particular mechanism of violence is a bell that cannot be unrung.

And so, the gun goes off, releasing a tiny steel ball of death into the room.

Directly at the stockpile of gunpowder in the corner.

I have a moment to comprehend just how fucked we are before the world erupts in hellfire.

CHAPTER 39

Kiki

The funeral is an understated affair.