Prologue

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The creak of a footstep on a wooden floor.

The quick heartbeats of the soon-to-be victim.

The silver pistol, flashing in the moonlight.

The room is quiet and utterly dark but for a thin slice of white light knifing out from beneath the drapes, illuminating the elegant weapon as it is raised to the side of a head, long white fingers curling around the handle, resting lightly on the trigger.

The darkness is spoiled by the moonlight, and the silence is spoiled by the gunshot.

Blood soaks into the floor, staining the wood red as the body thumps to the ground.

It has begun.

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