I know, I will only check it out and not play

Kyle stretched as he got out of bed, smoothing his ruffled hair before methodically making his bed, ensuring it was wrinkle-free.

His room was tidy, everything placed where they should be and in order. Doing some warm-up exercises, he brought out his knives.

He laid the knives on the table, pausing to count them. Starting with the smallest, he cleaned each blade carefully with a white cotton ball, their sharp edges glinting under the light and reflecting on his icy blue eyes.

His finger grazed a blade, drawing blood and snapping his focus back.

He dropped the knife on the table and let out a sigh. The rhythm of his cleaning ritual was broken; his mind refused to focus.

Rising from the chair, he approached a hidden board on the wall, covered with pictures of Cyra. Beside each photo, notes detailed failed methods. One picture had a knife stabbed into it—so that’s where it had gone.

The red marks of failure contorted his face with anger.

“Bang!”