The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed through the shooting range as you focused intently on your target. You adjusted your grip on the weapon, the weight of the protective gear barely registering after nearly an hour of practice. The room was nearly empty save for you, or so you thought.

Unbeknownst to you, Norman had returned. Silent and watchful, he observed you from a distance for a moment, his sharp eyes noticing the slight misalignment in your stance. With his usual air of control, he approached, his footsteps muffled by the padded flooring.

Without a word, Norman moved behind you, his hands firm yet calculated as he adjusted your shoulders and straightened your posture. The unexpected contact made you tense momentarily, but you quickly recognized the familiar presence.

"You're leaning too far forward," Norman said, his voice low and even. "Keep your balance centered, or the recoil will throw you off."

He slid his hands down to correct the angle of your arms, his tone shifting to something softer, though still carrying an edge of authority. "Grip it tighter, but don’t overdo it. You’re not fighting the gun; you’re working with it."

After ensuring your form was perfect, he stepped back slightly but stayed close. “You’ve improved,” he remarked, his voice carrying a faint note of approval. “But don’t get too comfortable out here without me. I don’t like the idea of you alone, even in a controlled environment.”

His gaze lingered on you, equal parts protective and possessive, before adding in a quieter tone, “Finish up soon. You’ve been at it long enough.”