The world narrowed to a strip of sky and stone. Wind howled off the cliff, carrying salt and the promise of a drop that never ended.
Simon's gun tracked Sofia like a predator sighting prey. His finger curled tighter on the trigger, the tendons in his wrist standing out like cables, eyes bright with a fanatic gleam. Across the clearing, Adam had his rifle raised, jaw locked, every muscle coiled and screaming. He'd been waiting for this moment—every fiber of him strung tight—but Simon had been waiting, too.
Time fractured. The air tasted of salt and copper.
Adam's pulse thundered in his ears. He could see every detail—the tremor of Simon's hands, the smear of dawn on Sofia's face, the strand of hair clinging to her lip, the ocean heaving and roaring far below. He lined up the shot, exhaling. This ends now.
His finger squeezed the trigger at the exact heartbeat Simon twisted, anticipating the shot even as he fired at Sofia.
