Chapter 3: The Weight of Iron
Lilith finally pulled her hands away from Chloe’s face. She stepped back from the open door of the sedan. The heavy thud of the car door slamming shut sounded like a judge’s gavel echoing across the quiet courtyard. Chloe was secured inside, shielded behind bulletproof glass.
Lilith turned her back to the car and faced the stairs. She didn't yell. She didn't scream for justice. She walked toward the trunk of the car with a slow, deliberate grace. The men on the stairs shifted slightly, a ripple of unease breaking their statuesque posture, but Julian simply tilted his head, amused by the theatrics.
As Lilith’s hand traced the sleek black metal of the trunk, she whispered to herself, a final prayer to a god she had long abandoned. "They will reap what they sow."
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With a swift, practiced motion, the trunk popped open. Lilith reached inside. When her hand emerged, the afternoon sun glinted off the cold, dark steel of a heavy-caliber handgun.
The atmosphere in the courtyard shattered. The silence was no longer peaceful; it was a vacuum right before an explosion. Lilith raised her arm, her stance perfect, her aim dead-locked on the center of Julian’s pristine white chest. The dark lenses of her aviators hid her eyes, making her look less like a mother and more like the Grim Reaper herself, summoned to collect a long-overdue debt.
