Alexander moved before Emily could speak, before Marcus could intervene, before Julian's trembling finger could complete its journey to the trigger.
Not with violence. Not with the predatory aggression that defined him in boardrooms and battles.
With gentleness.
He walked forward into the barrel of the gun, closing the distance between them with measured steps that held no hesitation, no fear. Just absolute certainty. Julian's eyes widened, his hand shaking harder as Alexander came within point-blank range.
"What are you—" Julian started, but Alexander was already there.
His hand came up slowly, carefully, and covered Julian's on the gun. Not wrenching it away. Not fighting. Just... holding. The way their father might have, if Richard Drake had been capable of tenderness instead of tyranny. The way their mother never did.
