The radio crackled faintly in the background as the barrel of the gun stayed fixed on Simon’s chest. Your hands shook, but you refused to lower it.

“You think I wanted this?” You spat, your voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. “You left me no choice, Simon.”

Simon stood perfectly still, his glasses glinting under the dim light. “I don’t believe that,” *he said softly. “You’re better than this. Better than me.”

You hesitated, your finger brushing against the trigger. “Stop trying to talk your way out of this.”

“I’m not,” he replied, stepping forward slowly, his hands raised. “I’m just reminding you that you don’t have to do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

The radio hissed louder, as if echoing the storm raging in your chest. One second stretched into an eternity as you both stood there—him unarmed, you unsure—and for the first time, you couldn’t tell who was more dangerous.