Charles sat at the edge of his bed, the dim light of the lamp casting long shadows across the room. The silence of the house was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside.
His hands trembled as he held the kitchen knife in his grip, staring at the reflection of the blade.
The weight of what he was about to do hung over him like a noose tightening around his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced with the memory of the contract.
One hundred souls. One hundred lives. But the demon had said they wouldn't be innocent, hadn't it? They deserved it. That's what he kept telling himself.
His eyes flicked to the television in the corner, where a news report played. The screen showed a man's face—a mugshot, the anchor's voice reciting the crimes committed. Armed robbery, multiple assaults, a murder during a failed home invasion. The words echoed in Charles' head.
