The Last Heir

25. Who Shot?

"Come on, son, go!" screamed Mr. Harry. When I looked at him, he was already tucking his smoky gun into his belt.

That provided some solace for me. Finally, I wasn't in shock of my life, trembling like a leaf in the wind, fearing the imminent embrace of death.

At least I now knew that it was Mr. Harry who had fired the shot, so I couldn't be hit by friendly fire. With newfound confidence, I scanned the surroundings and realized there was no blood on the ground, nor anyone wounded by the bullet.

"C’mon! After him, stop wasting time!" Mr. Harry's voice echoed in my ears. It transformed my legs into wheels, and together with the other five, we sprinted after the thief, swiftly closing the gap.

When we finally caught up with him, we discovered he was empty-handed, raising two perplexing questions in my mind.

If he was empty-handed at the moment of capture, it meant that the street, like a protective mother, had shielded him and safeguarded the device we had chased him for.

Or perhaps, he