The first cop’s weapon clattered to concrete. He fell. No transition between standing and down. Like frames cut from a film.
Wet crack. Choked sound cut short. Body hitting ground.
The first cop didn’t get up.
The second cop lunged backward. Reaching for his radio.
Xavier moved. One motion, impossibly fast. The second cop dropped.
Crunch of bone meeting concrete at the wrong angle. Soft exhale of air leaving lungs that wouldn’t draw another breath.
Silence.
Two men on the ground. Flashlights rolling across the alley, beams cutting wild patterns through snow.
Bodies at unnatural angles. Dark liquid spreading outward.
Blood. That was blood pooling in the snow.
Xavier stood over them. Breathing harder. Monitoring. Making sure they stayed down.
Not a scratch on him.
My brain tried to replay the sequence. Understand how a person moved that way. Ended two lives in seconds.
Couldn’t.
He killed them.
The thought arrived distant. Like my mind couldn’t close the gap between knowing and seeing.
Killed them the way most people swatted flies. Casual competence born from practice.
No hesitation. Threat identified and neutralized before conscious thought.
That’s what he is.
Under the gentleness and vulnerability. Under every tender moment.
This.
Weapon shaped like a person. Death wearing skin.
My palms shook. Couldn’t make them stop. Cold sweat broke across my skin.
Xavier turned toward me.
The weapon disappeared. Concern flooded his expression. Checking me for injury. Making sure I was okay despite what he’d done.
Gentle Xavier returning like the violence had never happened.
That broke something in me.
How? How did he just switch like that? How did the same palms that crushed windpipes now hover with such careful gentleness?
My throat closed.
He crossed to me. Fast but not threatening. Stopped. Waiting.
