Anastasia shook violently, her entire body trembling as the deafening crack of the gunshot echoed through the air, the sharp sound slicing through the silence like a blade. Her hands flew to her ears too late, as if that could muffle the blast that had already lodged itself deep in her bones. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavily in the air, coating her throat and burning her nostrils. Her back was pressed tightly against the cold chair , her heart pounding so loudly it almost drowned out everything else.
The bullet had hit the wall just inches from her head, shards of plaster raining down over her like snowfall. He had missed her. On purpose. Her knees buckled slightly beneath her as the realization sunk in—he hadn't wanted to kill her. Not yet. The man stood a few feet away, his arm still extended, smoke curling from the muzzle of his gun. His expression was unnervingly calm, as if he hadn't just fired a bullet at her. As if her life didn't matter.
