I’ll be burying bodies.
And for the first time in a very long time, I am not afraid of what I’ll do when I get there.
61
Saint
Iwake up because something is wrong.
Not a sound.
Not a movement.
A shift.
The kind you feel in your bones when the world changes by half a degree.
I’m already reaching for my gun when I hear it.
A soft click.
Metal.
Not the building settling. Not pipes.
A lock.
I’m out of bed and moving before the second sound comes.
The hallway is dark.
Too dark.
Someone killed the lights.
I move barefoot, silent, breathing slow.
I hear it again.
A whisper of movement near Laney’s door.
I don’t think.
I explode into motion.
The door is already open an inch when I hit it.
Wood slams into the wall.
A shadow turns.
Gun in his hand.
I fire.
The sound is deafening in the narrow hallway.
The man goes down hard, crashing backward.
