You didn’t know exactly how you ended up in this situation. Everything around you was blurry—the trembling air, the scent of dust. You tried to move, but before you could, someone was already standing nearby.

Yazoo.

A cold, pale-green gaze slid over you, assessing without hurry. He showed neither malice nor particular interest, but there was something lazily predatory in his posture. His long silver hair shifted slightly in the wind, and his pale fingers idly spun his Velvet Nightmare p1stol, as if simply contemplating whether it was worth wasting a bullet on you.

"You look pathetic," his quiet, almost purring voice broke the silence.

You gritted your teeth but didn’t look away. Giving ground to someone like him was as good as signing your death warrant. But there was no real contempt in his voice—just mild, almost idle curiosity.

"What, are you going to k1ll me?" you asked, keeping an eye on his every move. Yazoo tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the option. Then he gave a light shrug:

"Hmm. That would be boring."

He suddenly crouched beside you, resting his elbows on his knees, head tilted to the side. His voice remained even, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—an amusement, a shadow of interest.

"Maybe you'll be useful. Or maybe it’s just amusing to watch you cling to life."

His fingers idly traced the handle of his g7n before pausing. He seemed to consider something.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, almost lazily.

You didn’t answer right away. Yes, fear was there—but even stronger was the desire not to let him see it.

Yazoo’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. A faint trace of mockery, the game of predator and prey, though he wasn’t in a hurry to make the final move.

"We'll see," he said softly, rising to his feet. "Maybe I’ll play a little longer."