At that moment Isabella's chest rose and fell with every breath, her words still hanging in the air like smoke. She had thrown everything at Kai—her justifications, her pride, her defense. And for a moment, there was silence between them.
Then Kai laughed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't mocking. It was soft… slow… like something bitter rising from deep inside him. Then he shook his head slightly as he smiled, not in amusement—but in disbelief.
"You've really been holding on to that line, haven't you?" he said, his voice low, laced with a quiet fury. "You've never killed anyone, so that makes you clean, right?"
He took a slow step closer, his tone sharp like glass underfoot. "That's what you've been telling yourself every night. That's the perfume you wear to bed. 'I've never pulled a trigger. I've never stabbed anyone.' So everything else you do... is fine."
He looked at her the way a wolf might look at a fox pretending to be noble.
