Gunfire cracked down the hallway, close, no time to think.

You ducked behind the doorframe, raised your weapon, and counted the shots.

Three rounds. Two different calibers. Someone’s bleeding. Could be yours.

Boots slammed the concrete behind you. Javier’s. You didn’t look back, but his voice came in tight behind your shoulder.

“Left side. He’s pinned. Move when I say.”

You nodded, breath caught somewhere between panic and muscle memory.

“Now.”

You moved.

The man didn’t get a second shot off. Blood bloomed up the wall like a stain you wouldn’t remember later. Javier fired clean, no hesitation. Just one of those shots that always hit center mass.

The hallway went quiet again, just your breath, fast and heavy in your chest, and the warm sting of something slick on your arm.

You looked down. Not yours.

Javier was already checking the next room, like it hadn’t just happened. Like this wasn’t the third shootout this week.

He glanced over his shoulder once, eyebrows ticking up slightly.

“You good?”

You nodded. It was automatic. you had done this countless times before. Just blood on the floor and the sound of footsteps fading into the next room.