Leon lowered the gun. Smoke curled from the barrel like a whisper. He felt no joy, no triumph—only the hollow efficiency of a tool perfectly made for destruction.
And that, the Merchant knew, was the deadliest upgrade of all.
He vaulted the wall.
Leon snatched the upgraded pistol. The moment his fingers touched the grip, a cold rush flooded his mind—the memory of that rookie’s face faded to static, then vanished entirely. He felt lighter. Hungrier. More focused.
Ashley’s cries became sobs of relief.
Leon hesitated. “What kind of memory?”
Leon slid behind cover as the Garrador roared. “I don’t have time for trinkets.”