How about we play a game?

"What does it say, Tristan?" Lyla asked, her voice barely audible. Her hands clenched nervously as she took a step closer to him, her eyes meeting his.

Tristan remained silent for a few more moments, his gaze still fixed on the paper. A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes, the wheels in his mind turning at an alarming speed.

Without a word, Tristan flipped the paper to reveal a gruesome image printed on the back.

It was a chilling picture of Astra, her once gruesome features twisted in a pained grimace, her head severed cleanly from her body. The severed head was staged outside of Lilium Manor, the blood-splattered glass serving as a macabre canvas for the chilling message written in blood. Tristan's name was smeared across each windowpane, the bold, dark letters a stark contrast against the grim scene outside.

A distinct message, written in the same blood, was scrawled on a few of the panes. It read, "Tristan, your death is my game. Will you play?"