POV: Leo
Price hit the floor before Leo even finished crossing the room.
Not because Leo had said anything. Because Price was good at his job and the THUD against the outer wall had been exactly the kind of sound that good men moved fast for. He was already low, already killing the space heater's orange glow with one hand, plunging the warehouse into total darkness.
Leo was grateful for that. Darkness was cover. Darkness was time.
He had his gun in his hand. He didn't remember deciding to draw it. His body had made that decision independently somewhere between the sound and standing up, the same way it had made the decision to cross the room in eight steps without making noise, the same way it had found the wall beside the river-side window without needing light to navigate.
Fifteen years of this. Your body learned the geometry of danger.
