Mara’s expression twisted, as if the words broke her. A few tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Stop!” Mara snapped, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just…be quiet.”
She finally raised the gun, pointing it down at me.
There was nowhere to run. I was stuck. The barrel trembled as Mara started to cry. I didn’t know what to do.
The gun glinted in a ray of sunlight leaking through the roof.
Mara jumped as a loud noise rang through the barn. I let out a strained, startled yell.
But then, his voice drifted through the space.
“Mara…what are you doing?”
My entire body convulsed with panic. His voice was as calm and measured as I imagined it being in a moment like this.
Mara’s mouth gaped before she spun around.
I looked past her—and standing about ten feet away, near an open gap in the old sliding door, was Graham.
His eyes were on Mara, but I could feel the tension radiating from him, despite the controlled tone of his voice.
“Graham?” Mara stepped toward him. “How did you find me?”
Graham’s face fell, his mouth tightening. “I was worried about you, Mara,” he said softly. “I’ll always find you.”
Mara halted before she reached him. The gun hung limp at her side.
“Really?” she said, breathless.
Graham nodded.
Mara took another step toward him—and I snapped out of my stunned shock.
What was Graham doing here?
He had to know this was dangerous. Mara could hurt him.
I instinctually leaned toward him, pulling against the bindings around my wrists. Fresh blood oozed down my hands, dripping from my fingers. I let out a small whimper of pain—barely audible. But it was enough.
Graham glanced at me, and the concern in them was unmistakable. So was the harsh, violent anger.
It lasted only a moment—less than a breath—before his eyes jerked back to Mara. And that was all it took.
Mara froze. Her hand clenched around the gun.
She threw a look over her shoulder at me before her gaze snapped to him. “No,” she whispered, sounding heartbroken. “You’re not here for me.”
Mara stepped away from Graham, and panic spiked in his expression.
He shook his head. “Mara, stop.” His voice was authoritative now. Commanding.
But Mara wasn’t listening.
“This is for you, Graham,” she said, her voice on the edge of hysteria.
She pointed the gun at me—and Graham moved. He yelled something, but my ears had gone muffled.
