CHAPTER 2 — THE MAN WHO DIDN’T SHOOT FIRST
Norah didn’t answer immediately.
Because the question wasn’t really a question.
It was a trigger held behind a sentence.
“Where is she?”
The iron in Norah’s hands felt heavier now, not from weight—but from understanding.
This man didn’t ask twice.
The burned gunman on the floor groaned, trying to crawl toward his dropped weapon.
The silver-eyed man didn’t look at him.
Didn’t even acknowledge him.
All his attention was locked on Norah.
And the space behind her.
Where the child was hidden under towels and plastic baskets.
Norah shifted her stance slightly.
Blocking the angle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said carefully.
A lie.
Badly delivered.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
One step forward.
Not rushed.
Not aggressive.
Controlled.
That made him more dangerous than the men outside.
“Move,” he said.
Norah didn’t.
The iron lifted slightly.
“I said I don’t know,” she repeated.
A pause.
Then something changed in his expression.
Not anger.
Recognition.
Like he had just confirmed something he feared.
“You’re not one of them,” he said quietly.
Norah frowned.
“Of course I’m not—”
A sudden sound behind her.
Small.
A breath too sharp.
The child shifted under the towels.
The man’s eyes snapped instantly toward it.
Norah moved faster than thought.
She stepped fully in front of the hiding pile.
“No,” she said sharply. “Don’t.”
That word changed everything.
Because it wasn’t fear.
It was protection.
The man’s gaze flicked back to her.
Slowly.
“You’re protecting her,” he said.
Norah’s grip tightened.
“Yes.”
A beat.
“That’s all I’m doing.”
Something almost unnoticeable passed through his face.
Conflict.
Then he lowered the gun one inch.
Not away.
Just slightly down.
“Open it,” he said.
Norah shook her head.
“No.”
The burned gunman tried to rise again.
The silver-eyed man didn’t look back.
He fired once.
A controlled shot.
Not messy.
Not emotional.
The room went silent again.
Norah froze.
“You just—”
“He would’ve killed her,” the man said flatly.
Norah’s stomach dropped.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“I already did.”
Silence.
From under the towels, the child made a small sound.
A whisper.
“Norah…”
The man heard it.
So did Norah.
The gun lowered further.
“Her name?” he asked.
Norah hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
The man’s expression changed again.
Not softer.
May you like
Worse.
Certain.
