Claire moved before the echo died. Her gun was in her hand in an instant, a sleek black pistol that gleamed dully in the dim light. She didn't aim—she knew. Her arm was steady, her finger squeezing the trigger in rapid, controlled bursts. Pop-pop-pop! The muzzle flash lit up her face in stark relief, her jaw set, her eyes cold and focused. She wasn't shooting to kill—yet. She was buying time.
"Stay down!" she barked, her voice cutting through the chaos. A bullet whizzed past my ear, embedding itself in the wood behind me. Splinters rained down like deadly confetti.
I ducked lower, my heart hammering against my ribs. Claire's eyes flicked to me, assessing. "You hit?"
I shook my head, my voice barely more than a breath. "No. But who the hell are these guys? Who are you?"
She fired another round, the gun bucking in her grip. "FBI!" she snapped. "That's all you need to know!"
