Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

...

She eyes the object on the table with a feigned expression of curiosity.

"Is that for me?" She asks innocently, gesturing towards the revolver. It's new and shiny, either freshly polished or newly bought. Military Police issued. In another time, she might have been the one to carry it.

Her visitor mashes his lips and considers the question. "What could you possibly want with a gun, Annie?"

The girl shrugs and picks nonchalantly at her nails. She's doing everything in her power to look unperturbed by the dangerous weapon. Internally, she's churning, wondering when and how Armin suddenly gathered the guts to purchase a smuggled gun from the Military Police black market. She wonders what else the blond is capable of.

"You and I both know you would never stoop so low to do that," the young man continues, hinting at the final solution with an ironic half-laugh under his breath. Even though she sealed herself away from humanity in her diamond prison, she never truly gave up, simply waiting for the day when she could strike back. She is still a warrior, even if she feels like a failure.

As hard as she tries to hide it with a sneer or remark, Armin sees this pulsing urge to survive pounding within her chest as powerful as her own heartbeat. He sees it in her twitching fingers and her desperate breaths each time she yanks herself from a nightmare (Annie has a feeling she hasn't been sleeping entirely alone these past few nights). He knows the girl cannot simply give up.

"No," Annie admits, coming to the conclusion that it's easier to just accept defeat instead of squabbling over details. "But I wouldn't be opposed to shooting you—"

"—I'm sure only one bullet would suffice—"

"—in the chest four times. Maybe five."

Instead of being unnerved by the blonde's blunt answer, the young man merely laughs. "I assume you are already familiar with this weapon. It has the capability to fire eight shots before it has to be loaded again." Armin scoops the gun up from its spot on the table and observes it carefully. He even goes as far as reveal eight empty chambers before snapping the piece back and spinning the cylinder. He tilts his head at the girl with a curious expression before turning the empty weapon towards himself. Annie watches with an impassive slate.

"So after you shoot me four or maybe five times," Armin accents each shot with a gentle tap of the gun against his chest, "what would you do with the other bullets?"

"There are none in the cylinder. It doesn't matter."

"Humor me. Just pretend." Armin's unexplainable expression returns. It unnerves Annie, but she can't bend low enough to allow him to know that. She continues to keep her nonchalant mask.

Annie sighs exasperatedly, but a small part of her enjoys the game enough to keep her active and motivated. "I would then shoot the lock to my cell. With the remaining bullets, I'd get rid of anyone who stands in my way," she finished ominously.

Armin nods as if this is the most ingenious plan he has ever heard of. "Like I said earlier, I would have been dead by the first shot. Why waste perfectly good bullets on a corpse? You'd only attract more attention."

The blonde girl scowls and turns away. She doesn't have to explain her rage to the man across from her. A small part of her agrees with him—it's hardly rational to risk her escape for revenge—but the large part of her brain still aches for a closure of their fatal wager. She seeks justice for his blatant betrayal, never mind what humanity claims.

"What do you want, Armin?"

"You seem bored."

"What the—what else am I going to do except sit here?"

"Would you like to play a game?"

"I think I've had enough of your games."

"Why don't we finish the last one we started then?"

Annie hesitates, suppressing the cold shudder that traipses up and down her spine. The candles in her cell gutter, tossing dark shadows across their faces.

"What do you have in mind?"

Armin gives her that same little smile again, but for the first time during their encounter it finally seems strained. He snaps open the cylinder again and fishes a small, lead bullet from his pocket.

"One bullet?" Annie ventures. Despite herself, her interest is piqued.

"One bullet," Armin confirms, dropping the tiny oblong ball of metal into the first chamber. The room is silent and it hits the cold back with a sharp, metallic plink. Annie tries not to tear her gaze from the chamber, but she caves to peek at the blond's face. The blond tilts the revolver forward to inspect the bullet in the chamber before snapping the cylinder back into place.

The young man reaches to spin the cylinder. Annie strains to hear the faint whistle of the lone bullet rattling to better gauge its location, but she can't hear over Armin's talking. She tears her focus from the hissing cylinder, already abandoning hope in trying to listen for it, and stares blankly at the boy in front of her.

"In a perfect game," he begins slowly, "there would be eight shots. Four for me and four for you." The young man hesitates for a moment before continuing. "Although, I have a feeling we may not get to all eight. We'll go in turns," he says, pressing the gun into Annie's hands. His warm, sweaty grip slowly detaches itself from the gun and lingers in Annie's palm for a moment before he retracts his hand completely. Annie's cold, trembling fingers wrap tentatively around the still warm grip. Memories from her days as a Military Police member flood her system and she nearly misses what Armin says next.

"You can go first," he offers with a faint smile.

Annie looks down at the weapon in her hand and a slow, malicious smile builds across her features. She feels the heavy, forceful weight of the revolver in her hand and she's reminded suddenly of the power she now possesses. The power to kill. Her eager fingers scramble to find their respective places along either the gun's grip or brushed up against the smooth trigger guard. Annie's pointer finger slides effortlessly into the trigger guard and rests gently across the trigger as if it were the most natural sensation. She hasn't realized how much she's missed this since being confined underground.

"Fine," she announces, lifting the gun up to Armin's face. The boy's eyes widen slightly, but apart from that he does little to reveal his shock or fear. As innocent as the blond genius seems, Annie knows he has to have expected this from her. Her thumb reaches for the hammer spur and she flicks it back with a delicious click. The tension building up in the moment surpasses that of any deadly fantasy Annie has ever planned previously for their final encounter. However, even the girl knows the chance of this being the actual bullet is unlikely.

Trying to make the wait as agonizing as possible for the boy, she shoves the cold, glinting barrel under Armin's soft, exposed chin, causing his head to tilt back. Although he doesn't look down at her, Armin keeps his eyes open, gazing blankly in the far off distance. Annie forces the gun deeper into his flesh until she feels the reverberation of his slow swallow echo though the gun's barrel and into her fingers and clenched palm.

Annie takes a breath before tensing her trigger finger.

Click.

The hollow sound is chased away by the boy's relieved sigh.

Damn.

Annie relinquishes her position and takes a step out of Armin's personal space. She holds the weapon out to him like he's a dangerous animal, watching the young man for any sign of hostility. Armin simply takes the weapon with a faint "thanks" before considering his next option.

She tells herself not to be surprised, but the girl still blinks once and then twice when the blond young man points the gun in her direction. Annie chastises herself for expecting her opponent to do anything but play by the rules. He isn't the same Armin anymore, she echoes slowly. He's playing to win too.

Instead of stepping closer to the girl to guarantee a shot, Armin extends the hand holding the gun. His approach is far less personal than Annie's. Far less intimate and more diplomatic.

"Annie Leonhardt," Armin begins in a low, hesitant voice. Annie has to strain her ears or step closer to hear what he's saying. "You are a dangerous criminal. A jury has found you guilty of crimes against humanity." An icy snake slithers its way down the girl's spine and leaks its poison in her bloodstream. Annie half-wonders if Armin is bluffing about the jury, but she's too startled to contest him. "You have been sentences to death by any conventional means." As the man's speech continues, his voice becomes more secure and louder.

Annie does not tear her gaze away from the slightly trembling gun barrel. She doesn't want to see Armin's firmly composed expression. She prefers instead to stare at the belying sign of his weakness and hesitation. In the background of her intense stare, she watches as Armin's finger cautiously probes the trigger switch before—

Click.

Annie releases a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

That's two. Two out of eight. One fourth chance. The girl tries to soothe her jittery nerves by the favorable odds. I wasn't in any danger anyway.

"Your turn again," Armin smiles weakly, passing the revolver back to the girl. The grip is slicker than it was when she gave it to him earlier. Annie opens her mouth to comment about this weakness, but she closes it again after a moment of thought. She thinks back to her own shock at Armin's actions and reaches the conclusion that they both have their own flaws in this game.

He's too kind-hearted to play with her thirst for blood. She's too consumed by her innocent memory of Armin to consider the changed man in front of her.

Instead of reverting back to her original shot, Annie changes tactics, aiming the gun from her distanced location. She drops the gun from Armin's head and throat, traveling down the boy's body slowly and carefully. She even skips over his pounding heart to dwell somewhere over his stomach. Annie eyes the nonlethal location over the rear and front sights of the revolver although she knows she couldn't miss the large target only a few feet in front of her.

Armin notices this shift as well. He tilts his head and watches the girl with a curious smile.

"As painful as it would be, I wouldn't die from an injury to the stomach."

"Not immediately," Annie grounds out, hating the crackle in her own voice. "And I doubt the doctors will be fast enough to stop the bleeding when they find you hours later."

Armin nods admiringly. "So you'd leave me to suffer then? I think I'd rather you shoot at my head."

Annie grits her teeth, unable to handle to anymore of her opponent's prattle. She grips the gun tightly and presses against the trigger.

Click.

Damn him!

Annie shoves the gun back into Armin's limp hands with a savage sneer. "Here," she growls, feeling the tension finally start to buzz as she becomes the unquestioned next target. One in five is not nearly as favorable as one in seven.

"Spare me the execution speech this time around," she continues scathingly.

Armin glances down at the heavy weapon in his hand, considering the weight and the power for what seems like the first time that day. His pale hand slowly wraps around the grip, but he keeps the barrel pointing down towards the damp floor of Annie's cell. Although the cell is normally chilly, the combination of the heat of the moment and their tense, hot breathing has warmed the frigid air. Annie sees the faint beading of crystalline sweat across Armin's brow and she wonders what has caused it. The stress, the heat or both.

"I suppose humanity does demand justice," the young man responds softly. He doesn't tear his gaze from the glinting cylinder. The bright metal reflects the sputtering candle light, throwing trembling silhouettes across the young man's downturned face. Annie watches his hand, noting for once that it isn't shaking.

He's gathered some confidence, she notes dully, bracing herself for the next impact. She glances away from him, determined not to let him see the disappointment flickering across her schooled expression.

"Therefore, Armin Arlert is hereby charged with trea—"

"What?" Annie jerks her head to catch a glimpse of the young man's face, but it is surprisingly blank.

"—son for endangering humanity by prompting Annie Leonha—"

"—Armi—"

Annie's arm is reaching back for the gun but her mind is still spinning over his statement. The rules are changes far too fast for her. She's confused and angry. She feels lost and scared.

"—rdt into dangerous and deadly activities, harming innocents and destro—."

"Sto—!"

Before the impulsive and frenzied shout leaves her lips, her opponent has already brought the polished barrel to his temple and pulls back on the trigger.

Click.

When he lowers his hand with the gun, she yanks the revolver from his grip with unsteady hands. He squawks her name in vague confusion but the girl does not explain her uncharacteristic actions. She can hardly explain it to herself. Annie stares down at the heavy, cold weapon in her trembling fingers, feeling wave after wave of emotion wash over her once secure frame. For the first time, the weight seems too heavy to bear in one hand and she brings her other hand up for support.

Although the bold announcement of his crimes catches her off-guard, she is more started by Armin's shift in the rules. His lack of certainty is what scares her the most. She fears his unpredictability more than she fears for his life or her own life.

He wasn't going to shoot me. He could have killed himself. He saw himself as the criminal.

Annie is also afraid of the strong, uncontrollable reaction that his deed wrenches from her gut, tossing her into a sea of raging emotions. Emotions she had buried long ago when he stared up at her with those hooded eyes.

"Annie…?" He ventures again, more confused than triumphant. Apparently she isn't the only one surprised. He looks down at her and his tense shoulders soften. Annie knows she just made her fatal mistake.

There's only one way to fix what she's broken.

The blonde girl tightens her grip around the revolver's thick stock and takes a menacing step forward. Although he towers over her by a good several inches now, he still shrinks away from the contact. Annie stabs at his left shoulder with the gun, digging the barrel sharply in the hollow where his shoulder meets his collarbone. She forces him backwards with a savage sneer until he hits the cold wall.

Armin starts to lift his hands in a placating gesture but the girl is livid and simply scowls deeper. The strength of her anger keeps him pinned to the cell wall and he slowly lowers his arms.

"Why the hell," she hisses in a low, irritated snarl, "did you do that?"

She tries to bleed the emotion from her voice, but the loud thudding of her heart keeps pumping anger and shock back into her veins.

"I don't know what you me—"

Memories of Shadis' stupid training games flood the girl's mind at the most inopportune moment. Robbers and soldiers, she echoes numbly. The thieves and the righteous. The aim of the game: disarm the enemy with only the help of a wooden shank. It is nothing more than a mere squabble with a harmless toy, she realizes when she compares it to their current and deadly affair. Still, there were divided sides with designated roles. So unlike the uncertain, unpredictable game they play now. In one moment, Armin plays the hero, ridding humanity of her enemies, yet in another he steals death from Annie.

For the longest time, Annie has assumed the role of the thief—taking every opportunity to strike at Armin's defenses and leave him crippled or dead. She still cuts an impressive figure and Annie can sense the muted fear radiating from Armin's being. She glares up at the young man, feeling his pounding heart through the barrel of the gun. He's the one who has turned the game from black and white to seventeen shades of silver.

Annie narrows her eyes and tilts her head upwards to catch Armin's forward gaze.

"Why did you do that?" she repeats herself. He voice is softer and more controlled. She's gaining back the ground she previously lost.

Armin sighs. She feels the breath rumble through his chest before transforming into a soft breath against her sweaty skin.

"Why?"

"Why," Annie confirms, prodding the young man's chest for emphasis.

The blond gives her a watery smile and a half-shrug. "I can't explain it."

Annie pulls back slightly, blinking twice at the boy's answer. "What?"

"I was just doing what I thought was best for humanity at the moment."

"By killing yourself?" Annie arches her eyebrows and tilts her head at the answer.

"You heard the charges. I was responsible for the deaths of countless of innocents," he answers with a bitter shake of the head.

But you weren't the one who killed them. I wa—no… Annie freezes, suddenly feeling the full force of Armin's careful plotting. Wait. The girl purses her lips, absorbing every minute detail of the boy's voice and body language. As they get closer to a fatal shot, instead of growing more nervous, Armin simply seems to grow bolder. He has a plan.

You always were a rotten liar, Armin. You know which bullet is the lethal one.

"What are you playing at?" Annie growls, jabbing at Armin's chest with the cold barrel again.

He smiles at the girl's thinly veiled accusation. "Careful. You don't want to set it off on accident. It'd be a waste of a turn," he chuckles weakly.

Annie narrows her eyes, fighting every urge in her body to not jam down on the trigger. "We'll see," she announces, snapping back the hammer spur. Armin stiffens and Annie suppresses a smile. She lazily swings the gun towards the door and after a moment of careful aiming, she pulls back on the trigger.

Click.

Annie closes her eyes, opens them slowly, and turns back to Armin. Although it's his turn again, she is still comforted by his shocked expression.

"The door?"

"The only way to get out of here is through that door. I can kill you without a gun. I don't want to have to waste time searching for the keys."

"Ah," Armin nods once. He carefully pulls the gun from Annie's hand and loops his finger through the trigger guard. Annie watches him carefully, wondering which one of them he'll turn it on first.

"Let me help you escape then," he offers helpfully. He quickly aims at the door and pulls on the trigger after snapping the hammer spur.

Click.

It would have been a dreadful shot even if the bullet had been live. Annie follows the intended trajectory with her eyes, noting that any bullet would have ricocheted off the stone wall. She glances back towards his hands and notices with a frown that they aren't trembling. He didn't miss the shot because of nerves—he simply missed to further the game.

He knows something. Her hunch is no longer a guess. This knowledge does little to soothe her broiling mind.

It's now a fifty percent chance. I could kill him now or he could kill me the next turn. Annie peeks at the blond's blank expression and suppresses a frown. A one in two shot.

"It's my turn now," Annie announces, reaching for the gun. Instead of handing it over, Armin simply tilts his head, vocalizing the girl's calculations out loud.

"There's a one in two chance that the bullet will be in this next shot," he begins. "One in two chance that the bullet will be in the last shot," he continues.

"I don't need your probability lessons. It's my turn," Annie grounds out through a clenched jaw. She still hasn't decided her target, even though she knows it has to be him for any chance of survival. This isn't about escape anymore—her life is in danger.

"The odds are equal," Armin muses softly. Annie's fingers curl into hard fists. If he doesn't relinquish the gun soon, she'll have to improvise. "Death is just as likely as survival."

"Can we just finish this game then?"

"Are you growing bored of it already?" Armin smiles warmly at her. Annie suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. "We've only been playing for a short time."

"You and I both know that's a lie."

Armin at least has the decency to look innocent. "What?" he blinks.

"We've been playing this game ever since you figured it out," she growls. "Hell, you've probably been playing even when it was just a hunch." The taller blond's face is impassive and Annie feels triumphant in the sickest of ways.

"Have I at least been following the rules?" Armin forces a smile. Artificial.

"No," Annie responds flatly, crossing her arms while keeping one eye on the gun.

"How?"

Before she can stop herself, the words tumble out of her mouth unhindered. "You aren't supposed to bring a stolen and loaded revolver into the cell of a dangerous prisoner. You aren't supposed to play games with a criminal. You aren't supposed to be a vigilante or some suicidal extremist."

You're supposed to be Armin.

"Then I suppose the rules have changed," Armin announces after a lengthy pause. "Then this should hardly come as a surprise." He lifts the gun up in the air and points at the ceiling above them before firing. Annie doesn't realize he's taken her shot until it's too late.

Click.

"I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of skipping to my turn," he smiles without any warmth whatsoever as he passes the gun back to her. His fingers scrap against her open palm, reminding her of the weight in her hands. Her fingers curled reflexively around the cool metal as she maintains her blank stare at the floor.

This was his plan. He knew it would be the last bullet. His fear—his nervousness… It was all an act. Something to lure me into the game. He wants to see what I'm going to do.

A faint smile flickers across the girl's lips as she slowly lifts her head. As expected, Armin is watching her intently. There's something hidden in his expression, but she can't catch a true glimpse behind his carefully constructed mask. He began this game with a stacked deck, but Annie knows the only way to tear down all of his walls.

Even if it causes her to lose in the end, at least she'll still manage to beat him.

"I'm sure you had a feeling this might be the result," Annie shakes her head, releasing a weak puff of breath in the guise of laughter and disbelief.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responds automatically.

Annie tilts her head and lifts the gun in his direction, continuing as if he never interrupted. "I suppose you thought I'd crumble and refuse to fire this last shot, knowing whatever I do will condemn me forever." She searches his somber face for a moment. "It is the live bullet…isn't it?"

The faint pursing of the boy's lips confirms her guess.

Annie releases the pent up breath she had been holding. She's won.

"You thought you could convince me to do the right thing and surrender. It's all been a part of your game. You weren't in any danger so you didn't care about pointing the gun at yourself a couple of times."

"But you didn't know that," Armin counters suddenly.

Annie blinks. "What?"

"For the longest time, you've gone along with the game, believing every step of it was re—"

"I don't need to hear any more of your attempts to save yourself," Annie sneers, flicking back the hammer spur and training the weapon on Armin's chest. The blond watches her with narrowed eyes and even then Annie can't tell what he's thinking.

Is this a part of his plan too? Does he want to die?

She's given him enough time to slip away. Even an injured moving target is better than a dead, unmoving one.

"Now is your time to resign," Annie closes her eyes and reopens them, half expecting Armin to vanish from her sight. He maintains his firm gaze in her direction, hands held slightly away from his body. They aren't defensive, but rather they seem to be reaching out to her.

"Do you think I'd give up just when things seem to be a little bleak?" Armin counters with a faint chuckle. It is hollow and humorous, but it still pulls a wry smile from Annie's firm slash of a mouth. Annie has to marvel at his resilience throughout the entire game.

"You think I'm going to shoot you?"

"It would only be following the rules of the game."

Annie sighs and glances up at the ceiling, finally allowing the suppressed thoughts and feelings to leak back into her mind.

I'm still a warrior—I can't give up. I ca—

"Although you haven't been following the rules either," Armin remarks casually.

Annie's accusing gaze swivels towards the boy, pinning him with a dangerous stare.

"At the beginning of the game you did. I don't even think there was any hesitation in your decision to kill me." Armin swallows weakly and nods once. "Yes, your first shot was automatic. The only hesitation was deliberate—intended to prolong the terror." Annie frowns at the analysis.

Was I that easy to read? She scowls to hide her guilty expression.

"Your second shot wasn't fatal. Your third shot wasn't even directed at me, but rather at the door. You went from killing me to trying to escape with little bloodshed."

Annie remains silent. Her pointer finger buzzes along the inside of the trigger guard. She longs to simply yank the trigger and end his speculating. Still, a part of her is spellbound by the simple observations that betrayed her entirely. She wonders if it was these clues that allowed him to figure out her identity all those ages ago.

"Each turn got longer as you hesitated more before each shot," he continues automatically. He acts as if she isn't holding a loaded revolver to his chest. Annie thinks back to their first encounter while in her Titan guise. His panicked shrieking and cursing to save Jean. This blustering confidence is only a front to hide his terror. She knows him just as well as he knows her.

"Also, you made more excuses for what you were about to do as the game progressed, almost as if you had to justify your actions. But why?" Armin tilts his head, peering carefully in Annie's wide eyes. He's searching for something in her expression and Annie's too slow to shut him out.

"And then of course your reaction when I—"

"Armin," Annie interrupts the blond mid-sentence. He blinks at her, surprised at the break.

"Uh, Annie?" he echoes.

The girl glances down at the gun in her hand. At the beginning it had seemed so inanimate. Far less personal than any blade or other deadly weapons. One shot and her problems would be solved.

Now it is heavy in her weak hand. Her fingers ache from supporting the thick weight of the stock and her thumb is stained with a slick power from the hammer spur. Instead of standing at attention on the trigger, her pointer finger lies bloated and unhappy along the end of the trigger guard like a dying animal. By this point, the grip has warmed in her sweaty palm, but she can feel the cold radiating off of the polished metal from the barrel and cylinder.

The final chamber.

"You thought I'd play by the rules too?" she murmurs. Her voice is so faint that Armin has to step forward to catch the last word.

"Annie?" Armin repeats. Annie can't tell if it's her imagination or not, but worry seems to bleed into the boy's tone.

Annie breathes slowly through her nose, releasing the tension in her body with one last deep breath.

She has to call him on his bluff. It's the only way to win his perverse game.

The blonde slowly tips the gun backwards by twisting her wrist, aiming the cold barrel back in the direction of her chest. She closes her eyes and feels her pointer finger pull slowly against the slick metal lever.

"Annie?" He's calling for her, but he sounds so far away.

Before the finger closes down completely, warm arms encircle the girl from behind. The action, though not aggressive or rough, still is enough to startle her and she nearly jerks the trigger back involuntary. Annie's eyes fly open and she's aware of Armin's presence around her. His chest is pressed against her back and his warm fingers lace themselves around her sweaty wrists. The calm, steady thud of his heart reverberates through her hammering chest, creating a frantic symphony of deep bass and snare drums within her overwhelmed body. She can feel his gentle breath swirl in her ear.

Everything about his presence is over stimulating and she can barely keep the gun steady against her chest. If Armin notices, he doesn't dare utter a word.

"You said at the beginning that you would never think about this," he states softly.

Knowing he can't see her expression, the girl finally allows her pent up emotions to break free from their iron chains. She closes her eyes again as her brow furrows.

"I didn't ever want to make you break your promise," he continues.

"Annie, we can stop this right now." He's pleading with her. "It's just a game."

Annie remains silent, savoring the harmony of their hearts for one last moment. Now the two unique organs have reached a comfortable pace, creating a far more ordered sound. She knows there is nothing romantic in Armin's suicidal action; most likely he's just playing his final card. Still, Annie can't help but to feel conflicted by the boy's attempt to sway her.

There's no way she can fire into her own chest without harming the blond behind her.

He hopes that she will step back from her daring decision and resign.

"I'm sorry, Armin," she murmurs and for once she actually means it.

Annie calms her trembling wrist and tightens her grip on the gun. Armin's unhindered breathing behind her is almost enough to drown out the insecurities raging through her own mind.

What if I lose?

Annie considers the question, blocking out Armin's previous words and the warmth of his embrace. She never expected to go this far—risking her entire life and mission over a stupid desire to win. In a single encounter, Armin managed to destroy every single certainty in her poorly patched reality, turning even her goal for humanity into a secondary problem.

What if I lose? Annie echoes again.

Then there's one less monster in the world, she counters in a firm, determined voice.

And Armin?

He values his life more than proving a stupid point. He'd move as soon as I pull the trigger.

Finally bracing herself to take the decisive plunge, Annie pulls back on the trigger with an agonizing slowness, giving Armin just enough time to move away before it's too late. Instead of flinching, the blond man stays in the same location as his interlocked fingers squeeze encouragingly around the girl's wrists.

Click.

Silence.

Annie reacts to the shock of not being dead with a deep, greedy gasp for air. Her chest aches from the lack of breathing, but she knows it's nothing compared to the pain she could have felt if the tiny ball ripped through her chest.

I…

Did I miscount? Were there nine chambers in the cylinder…?

Armin rubs at her wrist, but his is different from the last time. More urgent and less gentle. There's something in his hand—something cold and slick. She glances down slowly, feeling an icy pit drop in her stomach. Through the tent made by his slender fingers, Annie spies the bright glint of the tiny bullet.

"You were going to kill me too?" Armin's voice is quiet. His words are carefully constructed, meant to keep any dangerous emotion out. She wants to turn around and see the expression on his face, but she can't.

"Does that make me the loser then? Or are you the victor?" Annie catches a hint of bitterness in his voice. The first real emotion he's revealed since the beginning of their game.

The bullet drops, spinning through the air and sparkling in the dying light of the candles.

By the time it bounces the second time on the stone floor with a metallic clink, Armin has already disappeared.

Annie feels his absence through her lone heartbeat and chilled back. She hates the weight of the metal weapon in her trembling hand. One tired glance at the bullet confirms her guess. It was never large enough to kill either of them. It wouldn't even properly fit in the chamber even if the gun had been loaded. A simple sleight of hand. An inconspicuous distraction.

It had all been a bluff.