"I'll go willingly," I say, looking at Gabe. My voice is shaking but clear. "Just don't hurt him. Don't hurt anyone else. I'll come with you."
Gabe's eyes narrow. "You're lying."
"I'm not. Look at me. I'm pregnant. I'm tired. I can't run. I can't fight." I take another step toward him. "You want me? Take me. But let Leo go."
For a moment, no one moves. The chaos around us continues. Smoke. Gunfire. Screaming. But in this moment, it's just us.
Gabe lowers his gun slightly. "You'll come? Willingly?"
"Yes."
"Sera, don't do this—" Leo's voice is desperate. Blood is pouring out of his head, and I can see he's barely on his feet. I suspect he hasn't used his gun because he's terrified of hitting me. He can't shoot cleanly, which means he's hurt—badly.
"I'll come. Just let him go."
Gabe studies me. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a syringe.
My blood goes cold.
"Prove it," he says. "You want me to believe you'll come quietly? Take this."
"What?" My voice cracks.
"You heard me." He tosses the syringe. It lands at my feet. "Inject yourself. Show me you're serious. Show me you're not going to try to escape or fight or cause problems."
I stare at the syringe. At the clear liquid inside.
My mind races through the options:
Option 1:Refuse. Gabe shoots Leo. Then shoots me or beats me unconscious. Takes me anyway. Leo dies. Baby at risk from violence.
Option 2:Run. Gabe shoots Leo. Shoots me in the leg or back. Drags me out bleeding. Leo dies. Baby at massive risk from gunshot wound.
Option 3:Comply. Leo lives. Sedative enters my system. Risk to baby exists but is controlled. I stay valuable to Gabe, which means he keeps me alive. Adrian will come.
It's not a choice. It's a calculation.
And the math is brutal.
"Sera, don't—" Leo tries to step forward, but he stumbles. Whatever hit him, did a number on his head.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"Midazolam. A sedative. Short-acting." He sounds almost clinical. "Won't cross the placental barrier in significant amounts at this dose. It's what they give pregnant women in hospitals for procedures."
My hands are shaking as I bend down. I need to buy time. Need to think.
That's when I see it. Leo's phone. It must have fallen from his pocket when we hit the ground. It's partially hidden in the grass.
I lean down, pretending to steady myself. My work apron has deep pockets. I slip the phone into one of them, then grab the syringe.
"Sera." Leo's voice breaks. "Please. Don't do this. Adrian will?—"
"Adrian isn't here." I stand slowly, syringe in hand. My voice is steadier than I feel. "And if I don't do this, Gabe will kill you. Then he'll beat me unconscious or shoot me. Then he'll take me anyway. At least this way, you live."
I look at my brother. At the man who used to build pillow forts with me. Who I sang lullabies to. Who became a stranger.
"I don't trust you," I say clearly. "But I trust that you need me alive and undamaged. A sedative is better than a bullet. Better than being beaten. Better than whatever else you'd do to force compliance."
