Quiet as a shadow, he slipped into her room. Every. Single. Night.
Kaya had left her gun by the pillow, its margin placed carefully to the side—an unspoken test. And every time he saw it, his body tensed, his feathers fluttered, and his expression—fear. Hesitation. Regret.
He never tried to take the gun.
And whenever he looked at it, he looked utterly terrified. His eyes widened, his breath catching ever so slightly as if the mere sight of it might explode in his face.
As always, he transformed into his human form—hands shaky, jaw clenched—and carefully tried to load the margin into the gun. Of course, like the fool he always turned into in that moment, he did it upside down. The click never came. Instead, a soft clunk echoed, sharp enough to make him flinch.
And maybe… in desperation to correct it, to fix his mistake before someone noticed, he did what he always did.
He made a copy.
Another gun appeared, gleaming under the low light of the room.
