A shaky laugh broke loose.“You’re ridiculous.”
“Focus.”I stepped back and grabbed the magazine.“Five rounds.See how you handle it.The recoil may be bad, but the noise is probably worse.”
She swallowed.“I’m not ready.”
“Perfect.Means you’re paying attention.”
I seated the magazine, racked the slide, then handed it back grip-first.
“Muzzle downrange.Finger indexed.Take your time.”
Her hands trembled as she raised the gun.She breathed in.Let it out.Lined the sights.
For a second, everything froze.
Then she squeezed.
The crack echoed sharply against the berm.Her body jumped.The round tore through the silhouette’s shoulder.
She lowered the gun immediately, breathing fast.“Fuck.”
“Target’s hit,” I said.“That’s more than most manage on their first try.”
“I felt it in my teeth.”
“That fades.”I kept my voice steady.“Again, if you want.”
She licked her lips.Hesitated.Then lifted the gun again.
This time the shot landed closer to center mass.
Her eyes went wide.“Did I --?”
“Lung shot,” I said.“Bad day for cardboard.”
A small, fierce smile curved her mouth.“Good.”
By the last round, her hands still shook, but control had replaced panic.Three solid hits.One high.One wide.
She set the gun down with care and flexed her fingers.“That felt… powerful.”
“Because it was.”I cleared the weapon again.“You made it do what you wanted.”
She stared at the target.“Can you bring it in?”
I called cease-fire out of habit, then walked downrange and pulled the cardboard free.
She studied the holes in a way I recognized.“I did this.”
“You did.”
“You didn’t swap out the target to make me feel better?”
I met her eyes.“I lie about birthday surprises.I never lie about whether someone can defend themselves.”
A breath left her in something close to relief.“Fair.”
The walk back felt different.Her stride stayed cautious, but confidence straightened her spine.Like she’d grown into herself just a little more.
