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“Shh,” I whisper, rocking him as his sobs tear through me. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
“Bad man!” he cries.
“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”
When I finally look up, Marco is still. Turo stands over him, gun raised for one beat longer. Then he lowers it. There is no triumph in his face. Only weight. Only cost.
His eyes find me. Find Nico. “Is he…”
“He’s okay,” I say immediately. “He didn’t see. He didn’t see.”
Something inside Turo finally loosens. He kneels beside us, careful, gentle, like the violence never touched his hands.
“You’re safe,” he tells Nico. “You’re safe now.”
And for the first time since this began, I believe it.
