The alley was identical to the one in the painting.
 Every detail—from the flickering streetlight to the cracks on the wall—was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Edrick knew it.
 Lira felt it.

The rain fell slow, and each chime of the bell sliced the silence like a sentence.

One.

Two.

Three.

They stood at the center of the scene, like actors aware of the script but unable to rewrite it.

“Everything matches,” Lira said, scanning every corner. “But one thing’s missing. The body.”

Edrick nodded. “Either it’s us… or the real target hasn’t arrived.”

Four.

Five.

The tension thickened.
 Their breathing shortened.
 The air trembled.

Then, at the sixth chime, a figure appeared at the far end of the alley.

Tomas Valner.

The blind painter walked like a sleepwalker, dressed in black, hands shaking.
 He was holding something—a thin, glinting blade.

Edrick recognized him immediately. “He’s following the script. Like he’s… hypnotized.”

Seven.

Eight.

Tomas stopped beneath the streetlight.

He raised the blade.

Nine.

Ten.

Edrick lunged forward. “No!”

He grabbed Tomas’s wrist a second before the blade could pierce his own chest.

Eleven.

Tomas turned toward him—or he would have, if he still had eyes—and whispered,
 “The last… is always mine.”

Twelve.

A sharp hiss.
 A cracking sound.

Tomas collapsed.

A crossbow bolt stuck out of his back.

Behind them—on the rooftop—a shadow vanished.

Lira knelt beside the body.

Beneath him, something lay on the ground: a canvas. Fresh. Still wet.

It showed exactly what had just happened.

The streetlight.
 The blood.
 The delayed rescue.

Signed with a single letter: A.

On the back of the painting, scrawled in black paint:

“The painter has finished his act.
 But the play goes on.
 Next role: The Loyal Traitor.”

Edrick didn’t look away.

“He’s choosing his pieces,” he murmured.
 “And we… we’re on the board.”

In the silence that followed, only one thing moved:
 a drop of ink dripping from the corner of the painting.

It wasn’t paint.

It was memory, liquefied.

The next scene was already written.

They just didn’t know…
 who would betray whom.