— "Is that so?" Lyra curled her lips into a smile, the gun still firmly aimed at Jimson. Her grip was so steady, it was hard to believe she was a delicate-looking pharmacist.
"But I don't think I need to stay gentle when standing before you. The best thing you can do… is not move. You're right in my sights."
Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed a certain satisfaction — like a cat toying with a mouse. Lyra believed she had control. A smug grin slowly took shape on her face.
Jimson, however, did not. He stood completely still, utterly unbothered. His indifferent gaze was fixed on her, as if silently weighing whether she'd dare to pull the trigger. He didn't even bother to step back.
— "Miss Elaris," Jimson finally spoke, voice low and smooth — like the chill of night wind brushing the nape of your neck.
"You've grown. Beautiful, sharp. But I still don't think the name Lyra suits you. I've thought of a new one. Doll's Eyes. What do you think?"
That gentle-sounding remark was nothing but a trap laced with poison. His tone might have seemed complimentary, but his eyes were the opposite — cold and sharp as blades, laced with scorn.
Lyra let out a laugh. It wasn't loud, but it was razor-edged.
"Pretty name. Doll's Eyes — the white berries with that glassy sheen, like the eyes of a child's doll. Very sweet to the taste. But also one of the most poisonous plants in North America."
She paused, tilted her head slightly, her gaze never leaving Jimson. "So tell me… what's your real reason for calling me that, Jimson Snake?"
Her eyes hardened as she stared at him. She knew this man wasn't someone easily dealt with — but having come this far, there was no room left for something as trivial as "fear of death." She took another bold step forward.
Jimson listened to her calmly analyze the plant, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. He didn't hesitate to offer a comment — or rather, a veiled insult:
— "A pharmacist with a well-rounded knowledge. As expected. Doll's Eyes… you should've already figured out why I chose that name for you."
His voice remained relaxed, almost teasing. But his eyes — no longer soft. A glacial sheen now coated his gaze — cold, deep, and dangerous.
— "If you're calling me Doll's Eyes, then maybe I should call you Jimson Snake… or perhaps…"
~~~~~BANG~~~~~
Lyra fired.
The shot knocked Jimson's cap clean off, revealing the face that had been hidden till now. She smirked, and called him by name — his real name.
"Julian."
— "You dare—" Atropa snarled, drawing his gun and aiming it at Lyra.
— "Don't." Jimson raised a hand, signaling him to lower it. Then he turned to Lyra, a faint smirk on his lips.
— "Clever of you to find out." Jimson was completely unfazed, his indifference intact.
— "It wasn't hard to recognize you. Your face hasn't changed much in twelve years. What I want to know is… how did you recognize me? Weren't you supposed to have that little problem — not being able to recognize people's faces?"
It sounded like a question, but the venom behind it was undeniable. Lyra stared at him with hatred in her eyes.
— "It's the voice," she said. "I remember voices very well. Especially… the voice of an enemy."
Jimson gave a cold, arrogant smirk. His eyes darkened — deep and simmering like the lingering embers of a cursed flame.
Lyra burst into laughter. It was sharp, bitter, and laced with venom.
— "Enemy? How ridiculous. What I did… was merely the price you had to pay for your sins twelve years ago."
Her gaze was ablaze with hatred. She gripped the gun tighter, the barrel trained squarely at Jimson.
He, meanwhile, didn't move an inch. His eyes stayed dark and still, cold as if the gun pointed at him didn't matter in the slightest.
— "So… what now? Are you going to arrest me, assassin?"
Jimson's voice was devoid of emotion — a hollow question, as if only meant to fill the silence.
Lyra let out a dry chuckle.
— "No. You're too cunning. Every move I made was already in your grasp. I didn't join the organization to catch you… I joined to dig deeper — to uncover every piece of your memory. And then I realized, I don't want to arrest you. I want to kill you."
Her voice grew heavier, each word bleeding like an open wound.
Hatred filled her eyes — nothing else remained.
— "Kill me? How? The same way you did Elian?"
Jimson's voice dropped, an eerie cold creeping into his tone.
— "Are you going to kill me… the same way you killed my brother?"
Lyra froze for a second — just one — before growling her answer:
— "No. I'll kill you… differently. Not like Elian."
Then suddenly, her voice trembled, as though she was fighting to contain her rage:
— "But… why? I did everything. I even killed your brother. You loved Elian more than anything… So why? Why didn't you kill me?!"
She nearly screamed, her voice cracking with grief and fury. Her eyes brimmed with tears — hatred mingled with a question that had remained unanswered for years.
Jimson didn't respond right away. He stared at her like she was a stranger — his black eyes bottomless, unreadable.
After a long pause, he spoke softly:
— "Because I have no reason to."
His answer was light as wind, yet it felt like ice water poured over the flames of Lyra's vengeance. She looked as if she might lose her mind.
But Jimson didn't give her a chance to respond. His voice continued, calm but poisonous:
— "You like using cardiotoxic poisons, don't you?"
His gaze dropped to Lyra's face, catching the subtle shift in her expression — just enough.
And he smirked.
— "You killed my brother with the berries of the Doll's Eyes plant. Small, white berries with black dots like pupils — beautiful, but deadly. When ingested, they cause arrhythmia and acute heart failure. Elian… died quickly."
Jimson paused, as if suppressing something that had just brushed the surface of his heart.
— "And Raphael's mother… you used monkshood poison. Its roots — even a few milligrams are enough to sever neural signals. Death comes in agony, with no time to call for help."
His voice was calm, steady. But Jimson's eyes turned faintly red.
Just for a moment. Then the emotion vanished, like it was never there. He looked at Lyra — cold and detached, as if she were a stranger.
— "Do you enjoy killing people that much?"
Lyra was silent for a long time. Then suddenly, she screamed:
— "Wasn't it because of you?! I killed Elian for revenge! I killed Raphael's mother to force you out of hiding! Why did you kill my parents twelve years ago?!"
Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and heavy. She could barely stay standing.
— "The car explosion that year… my parents were inside. I only survived because I snuck off to buy candy. When I came back… everything was a sea of flames. And I saw you. You were carrying your brother on your back, blood running down your shoulder, running without looking back…"
Jimson remained silent. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if a memory stirred.
— "Ah… the little girl from that day was you."
Jimson said it with a chilling calm. No surprise. No regret. Just a confirmation.
— "Six years later, I met Elian. I got close to him just to confirm it was you. When Elian took me to meet you… I knew I wasn't wrong. That face, those eyes — I etched them into my memory for twelve years. And even now, you haven't changed."
Jimson closed his eyes for a moment. When they reopened, they were a frozen ocean.
— "My brother… he truly loved you."
"And you killed him. More ruthless than I ever was."
He tilted his head back, lightly rotating his left wrist. His glove remained spotless — untouched by blood, sin, or grief.
— "I used to think I was heartless. But you… you're the one without a heart."
— "For revenge, love means nothing. Blame your brother for being too stupid to see through me."
Lyra sneered. Her words cut like blades, yet something flickered in her eyes — a tremble, a fracture.
Jimson stared at her for a while, then spoke with unsettling calm:
— "He knew. From the start."
"He just wanted to explain… to help you understand that what happened back then wasn't what you thought. But… even at the moment of his death, he never got the chance."
"As for me… I don't need to explain. If you want to hate me—go ahead."
The words were gentle, like still water. But to Lyra, it was unbearable.
— "What?!"
She screamed, her face contorting as if her last thread of belief had just been torn apart.
"You… you're LYING!!"
She didn't hesitate — she pulled the trigger. The bullet sliced through the air.
A deafening bang rang out.
It grazed Jimson's shoulder, leaving a long trail of blood. He winced slightly, but his expression didn't change.
— "Die, damn you!"
Lyra shouted again, firing a second shot. But this time, Jimson didn't stand still. He moved — danced — dodging the bullet like a phantom in a storm of blood.
Just as Lyra prepared to fire a third shot, another gunshot cracked through the air — but not from her.
A bullet struck her leg, and she collapsed with a cry of pain.
From the shadows, Atropa stepped forward, gun still raised.
He took aim at her head, ready to finish the job — but then Jimson's voice rang out, cold and clear:
— "Don't kill her, Atropa."
Atropa paused. His eyes, hidden behind tinted glasses, stared silently at Jimson as if to ask why — but he didn't question it.
Lyra lifted her head, eyes burning with rage:
— "Why?! You had so many chances to kill me! Why spare me?! Do you despise me that much?!"
Jimson looked at her — his gaze piercing through the layers of hatred, reaching something raw and human within her.
No insults. No pity. Just silence that could drive a person mad.
Lyra laughed through her tears, sounding completely unhinged:
— "I killed Raphael's mother… I even faked evidence so he'd believe you did it… I wanted him to hate you! Julian… I wanted you to suffer, to live in nightmares like I did…"
Jimson said nothing. He simply walked toward her, knelt down beside her.
His gaze remained steady — but this time, it wasn't apathy. Deep in those eyes… there was something hard to define — not forgiveness, not regret, but a bitter kind of surrender.
— "If you really wanted me to suffer… you should've chosen a different poison."
Lyra froze.
Jimson's voice was soft as the breeze, but it carved deeper into her soul than any scream ever could.
And in that moment, she knew.
Jimson had understood. He saw it all — the twisted, broken storm of feelings inside her that had been ready to explode.
She once saw Jimson as a brother. She had loved Elian with all her heart. There were times when she'd wanted to let go of the hatred… But all of that was buried under the explosion twelve years ago — and the cry of a child who no longer had parents.
Lyra clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms until blood began to well.
— "I just… didn't want Raphael to be heartbroken…"
She spoke like a confession, then looked straight at Jimson, her voice trembling:
— "One last time… I'll ask… Why? Why didn't you kill me?"
Jimson reached out and gently patted her head — like soothing a child who had just woken from a nightmare.
— "Exactly because there isn't a reason, little girl."
Then he stood up and turned to Atropa.
— "Take my Doll's Eyes to the hospital."
Lyra's gaze lingered on him, her vision fading.
— "So in the end… you still want me to hate you, don't you, Julian…"
The question drifted out quietly — the last tangled thread — just before she passed out.
Atropa stepped forward, bent down, and picked Lyra up in his arms. Before leaving the scene, he murmured:
— "He didn't kill you… because the Boss doesn't break his promises. Jimson Snake's girl."
Everything ended.
The abandoned house fell silent once more,
the only things left behind —
a few trails of blood…
EndofChapter24.