Shirley stood motionless, staring at Jason's lifeless body. His blood pooled around her feet, warm and thick, soaking into the earth. The scent of iron filled her nostrils, mixing with the acrid smoke of the fire still burning behind them.
Her chest rose and fell with deep, shuddering breaths. Her fingers twitched at her sides, still sticky with blood. It was over. He was dead.
And yet, the weight of Lumian's gaze remained.
She turned, slowly.
He stood just beyond the fire's glow, golden eyes gleaming like embers in the night. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, his posture relaxed, like he had merely been an amused spectator, not the orchestrator of everything that had just happened.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. "That was quite the show."
Shirley swallowed, her throat dry. She should have felt relief. She did feel it, somewhere deep inside, but it was buried beneath something else, something wrong.
She had killed Jason.