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I expected blood, just not so much of it.

Although it’s hardly a fraction of the amount he’s spilled.

My hand trembles, the gun’s cool metal a stark contrast to my volcanic veins.

Any remnants of guilt have dissipated.

After all, this was his fault.

He came here.

He pressed the pistol to her temple with a vow of vengeance.

He laughed when I begged him to stop.

Regret should be racing through me.

At the very least, remorse.

Instead, all I feel is relief.