THE ASSASSIN IN HIS BED
The air left my lungs in a quiet whoosh.
Nestled inside on a bed of black silk was a necklace. But not just any necklace. It was a delicate chain of what looked like platinum, and hanging from it was a teardrop pendant. The stone wasn’t clear. It was a deep, opaque black, shot through with tiny, glittering silver specks that caught the dim room light and threw it back like distant stars. It was surrounded by a filigree of smaller, shimmering black diamonds. Next to it lay a matching bracelet, a slim band with the same starry black stone set into it.
It was the most beautiful, dark, expensive-looking thing I’d ever seen. It looked like it belonged to a vampire queen. Or a supervillainess.
Bab Populer