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Then another.
But there’s still too many.
Always too many.
And then—
I hear it.
A shout.
Not mine.
Not one of theirs.
Mila.
Everything in me locks.
Focus narrows.
Control snaps tight—
Then breaks.
Mila
I knew better.
Iknewbetter.
The second I crested the ridge, I felt it.
Too open.
Too quiet.
Too—
Late.
A man steps out from behind a tree.
Gun already up.
Too close.
Too fast.
I pivot—fire—
Miss.
He lunges.
Knocks the weapon from my hand.
We hit the ground hard.
