They looked so beautiful, laid out in their case on the shelf. They had belonged to his grandfather, who, family lore, had never needed to use them.
The original bullets had always been in the case, except for the one that they had left in the chamber where it had long since rusted in place.
The man picked one up, looked it over, and was about to return it, when he saw both spaces were now empty.
He heard a step behind him and froze.
He felt cold steel on his head.
He prayed his pistol’s chamber was still empty.