The feeling crept up on me before I could name it.
Familiar. Too familiar.
I hadn't felt it like this since Chicago— since I'd been smaller, weaker, always one step behind someone else's shadow. The helplessness. The quiet understanding that if things went bad, survival wouldn't be in my hands.
My stomach twisted.
I loved Lila. I really did.
But I never wanted to feel like that again.
Not for her.
Not for anyone.
Still… her intentions hadn't felt cruel. If anything, they'd been protective. That thought dulled the edge of the fear, just enough to breathe through it.
I looked down at my gun.
Hands steady now.
I dropped the magazine. One round slid free, clinking softly against the concrete. My chest tightened.
I frowned, racking the slide back.
Check.
Metal clicked. Clean. Ready.
…Hadn't I done this already?
I swore I had.
Or maybe my mind had rewritten the moment to protect me from the truth.
