"You're Right on Time"
Zara froze, every nerve in her body screaming. Her breath caught mid-inhale, her heart a piston against her ribs.
Adrian's rifle pressed against Leo's tiny forehead.
Leo blinked up at the stranger, wide-eyed, confused. His little mouth opened, but no sound came out—only a quiver. His wide, tear-bright eyes shifted from the steel barrel to Zara.
He whimpered.
"No," Zara breathed, the word barely audible, like the whisper of ash.
Winter's body tensed beside her, freezing mid-motion, his hand still extended toward the boy he'd just helped up the final rung.
"Don't," Winter said quietly. His hands rose, palms out.
Adrian tilted his head, as if mildly curious. His finger rested near the trigger—not taut, not teasing. Casual. As though he wasn't holding a child's life between two breaths.
"I would suggest," Adrian said, in that familiar, cold syrup of a voice, "no sudden movements."
