Swallowing, malik narrows his eyes, trying to push past his hesitation
"This is for my parents," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous.
"This is for everything you took from me."
He feels a strange mixture of feelings – rage, grief, and a perverse sense of justice.
He pulls the trigger.
_Click._
The gun is empty.
He stares at the weapon, his face a mask of disbelief.
He had intended to end her life, to extinguish the flame of the Volkov legacy, but he'd failed. He'd forgotten to reload.
He lowers the gun, his breath catching in his throat.
He stares at Robin, her face pale and drawn, her breathing shallow. He sees the pain etched on her features, the subtle tremor of her injured hand.
And for the first time in three years, the hate begins to falter.
A strange, unsettling feeling – something akin to pity – begins to stir within him.
