The Recall Trials
Chapter 29: The Barrel of Fate

Chapter 29: The Barrel of Fate

The revolver spun again.

Blood still shimmered across the table, sticky and fresh. The chair next to the dead guy sat empty now, his body was already dragged away by the masked men.

And yet the game didn’t care.

Every spin felt like it pulled the oxygen out of the room.

The revolver stopped.

Zaara.

The barrel pointed at her.

She didn’t move at first. Like her body hadn’t caught up to what just happened.

Her hands were trembling in her lap. Her lips were shakin, but no sound came out.

She picked up the revolver.

Everyone watched.

Not a single whisper.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry, she just stared at the tray, her chest rising and falling too fast. She looked... lost. Like her soul had left her body for a second and forgot to come back.

"Zaara," I whispered. "Breathe."

She blinked. Her eyes darted to mine.

I nodded once, slowly. "You can do this."

Her hand looked so small around the cold metal.

She closed her eyes... and pointed it at her forehead.

It was already happening.

She took a shaky breath...

CLICK.

Silence.

Empty.

She dropped the gun so fast it clattered off the tray, and she backed away like it had burned her. She didn’t look at me. She just went back to her seat and folded into herself, hands trembling in her lap.

I exhaled. My heart nearly stopped. I couldn’t even speak. I wanted to reach across the table and hold her hand....but there was blood between us now. Literally. The stain from the last guy had spread toward her seat.

I could finally breathe again, but not for long.

Because the gun was spinning again.

It landed on a lady I hadn’t seen much before. Short, quiet, with braids. She tried to smile as she picked up the gun. She didn’t even finish the breath she took.

BANG.

She dropped like a puppet.

More blood.

BANG.

Another one gone.

Blood splattered the table again. Someone screamed. A chair tipped.

Still, no one moved.

The body fell forward this time, face-first against the table. Eyes wide open.

The girl next to him started crying, shaking uncontrollably, but the guards didn’t care. The lights didn’t flicker. The game just spun again.

The masked man spun the tray.

Next.

A tall guy with long hair and silver rings on every finger. He cursed under his breath. "Fucking hell," he muttered. He didn’t want to die. You could see it. But he didn’t have a choice.

Put it to his chin.

BANG.

The shot sprayed upward.

Blood hit the ceiling this time.

The screaming continued .This was horror, ducking horror.. People were breaking down around the table, sobbing, panicking, holding themselves like it would protect them from the gun.

Three gone.

Only two more to be "eliminated."

Then the gun stopped.

Just like that.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

And then.

The revolver turned again.

Me.

Vincent Aston.

Number 001.

It felt like the entire room turned to watch me stand.

My hands weren’t shaking. My heart wasn’t racing.

It was sprinting.

Zaara looked at me as she whispered, "Vincent..."

But I didn’t shake.

Not in front of them.

I walked to the tray like it didn’t scare me. Like I wasn’t falling apart inside.

But I was.

I picked up the revolver.

It was heavier than I thought.

I stared down at it. I looked at it through the spinning chamber. Two bullets remaining..

You’re not dying here.

Not in front of her. Not like this.

But it might have my name on it.

I stared out at the room. Everyone was watching. Theo. Nomi. Carter. And Zaara... her hands still shaking, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

I raised the gun.

Breathed in.

CLICK.

Nothing.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and placed the revolver back on the tray.

I walked back to my seat. My body was numb. From fear. I was this close to death.

No one could protect anyone.

And the gun was already spinning again.

Two more to go.

The revolver spun again.

I barely made it to my seat before the barrel landed on me again.

"What the fuck—?" someone muttered.

"No, no, no," Zaara said out loud now, standing up. "He just went! He already went!"

The masked man didn’t move.

Neither did the guards.

The voice returned.

"In this round, fate may not play fair. If the revolver chooses you again, you play again."

My blood ran cold.

Zaara moved like she was going to lunge, but Carter grabbed her arm.

"Don’t," he whispered. "They’ll shoot you."

The revolver waited for me.

Again.

I swallowed hard. My hands were already slick. My head felt like it was spinning out of orbit.

I could feel every eye on me.

Again, I stepped up.

Again, I picked up the gun.

Zaara’s voice echoed behind me,

"Please don’t let it be this one..."

I raised the revolver again.

One in six.

Bang or click.

I closed my eyes. My hands were trembling so badly, I could barely feel the gun anymore. My fingers didn’t want to move. My chest was caving in.

Is this it?

Was this really how it ended for me?

Not in some grand, meaningful way. But like this, at a table soaked in other people’s blood, playing a game meant to entertain the rich. Like a joke. A fucking joke.

Was I really going to die without ever doing anything that mattered?

I hadn’t done anything yet.

I hadn’t proved my father wrong.

"You’re a disappointment. A pathetic excuse for a son."

My father’s voice echoed. Still haunting me. Still louder than anything else.

My chest clenched. I never got to prove him wrong. Never got to show him that I could be something. That I didn’t need his name, or his power, or his hate to become someone.

I never got to tell Zaara the truth, that I loved her. That she was the only real thing in my life. The first person to ever make me feel seen. Like maybe I wasn’t all broken.

And I’d never get to face my father and finally say what I’d been holding in since the day my mom died:

You don’t get to punish me for her death. You don’t get to make me hate myself because you couldn’t save her either.

God, this couldn’t be it.

Tears stung my eyes as it rolled down my cheeks.

Not with a bullet I pulled on myself. Not without a fight.

This can’t be the end.

God... please.

Please don’t let this be how my story ends.

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