She placed the revolver on the table and slid it toward him. It was a taunt, a test.

She was not a myth.

"No," Elara said, stepping closer. "Prison is too good for you. You’ll run the place from the inside, you’ll buy your way to comfort. That’s not what I want."

Thorne squinted, the color draining from his face as he looked at the scar running down her cheek—a souvenir from her first week in Blackgate. "Vance?" he whispered. "You're dead. You burned."

[Vengeance Served] Piano: Final, crushing blow G - D - Em - C Violin and cello: Haunting echo