He lunges. Fast. Faster than I expect.
One second he’s on his knees… the next he’s surging forward, hand shooting out for the gun.
“Don’t—”
Too late.
His fingers slam into my wrist, knocking my aim wide. The gun jerks sideways as he grabs for it, his weight crashing into me.
We stumble. The world tilts. My shoulder hits the wall hard enough to rattle my teeth.
Pain flashes, but I don’t let go.
I can’t. Not again.
“Hello, ma’am,” I hear the dispatcher saying through the receiver.
I manage one scream.
His breath is hot and rancid against my face as he fights for leverage, fingers digging into my wrist.
“You’re not stronger than me,” he growls.
Maybe not. But I’m faster now. Smarter.
I twist. Not away, but into him.
Just like I was taught.
My knee drives up hard, catching him low enough to make him grunt. His grip falters… just for a second.
It’s enough.
I wrench my wrist free and stagger back, securing the gun and stepping back a safe distance. Steady and centered. Locked on his chest again.
“Don’t move!” I snap. This time my voice cracks like a whip. Filled with authority and final.
He freezes, chest heaving. Eyes wild. For a split second, I see it cross his face. Lost control. Lost hope. And fear.
Good.
“On your knees,” I say again. Slowly this time, lip curling, eyes boring into him.
He freezes. I can almost hear his mind working. But it’s too late. I see the moment he realizes this, then obeys.
My arms burn and lungs ache. But I don’t lower the gun.
Not now. Not when I’ve come this far, and I finally didn’t run.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” the dispatcher screams through the phone.
“Yes,” I pant. “Tried to gain control, but failed. Won’t try anything again,” I say, staring daggers at him. “Isn’t that right?”
He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t move.
Still, I don’t start breathing until a siren cuts through the distance. Faint. Then closer.
His eyes dart toward the sound. Then back to me. Something shifts. I recognize it instantly, calculation.
