I see it before my brain names it.
Red. Sharp. Precise.
“Elena, down,” I say.
I do not wait for her to react.
I tackle her to the floor, twisting as we go, turning my body into a shield on instinct alone. We hit hard. The impact knocks the air from her lungs and rattles my teeth. I wrap around her, one arm locked across her shoulders, the other braced against the floor as glass somewhere above us shivers and ticks in protest.
The sound comes a half second later.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
A crack that feels wrong in the air, like pressure snapping instead of noise.
Security floods the room instantly.
“Sniper!” someone shouts.
“Cover the windows.”
“Find the line of sight.”
Boots thunder across marble. Weapons come up. Furniture scrapes violently as guards shove heavy pieces into pl
