edgar had always known there’d be consequences. you don’t spend your life defending the guilty and exposing the worse without making a few enemies along the way. he just never thought one would come here. not like this. not with your back pressed to a concrete wall, a gun against your temple, and his name on the lips of the man holding you hostage.

“callahan,” the guy sneered. “you remember me?”

edgar did. of course he did. he remembered every case, every file, every name and sentence and courtroom hour he’d spent putting this man behind bars. attempted murder, two counts. enough blood to paint a street. no remorse. and now here he was. free. armed. and holding the one person edgar couldn’t afford to lose.

he didn’t move. didn’t flinch. his voice stayed level, steady, professional even— but only because if he let it tremble once, the whole thing would collapse.

“you don’t have to do this,” edgar said calmly, hands slightly raised, every nerve in his body screaming. “we can talk. you want me? fine. talk to me. but let her go.”

you could feel it. the fear vibrating under his calm. his eyes were locked on yours. he didn’t dare blink.

“you ruined my life,” the man snapped. “you walked me into that courtroom like you’d already decided I was guilty.”

edgar’s jaw flexed. “you were guilty.” probably not the smartest thing to say, but honesty had never been something he could switch off.

the man shoved the barrel closer to your temple. your breath caught. edgar’s face went white.

“okay,” he said quickly, quietly. “okay. listen to me. just—look at me, not her. come on. you wanted my attention. you’ve got it. i’m right here.”

you watched him, chest heaving. he looked like a man dying slowly while standing perfectly still.

“she has nothing to do with this,” he said again, voice lower now, almost raw. “you’re angry? fine. be angry. take it out on me. but if you hurt her, there’s no coming back from that. you know that, right?”

the man didn’t speak.

“you shoot me, maybe you run. maybe you make it another day.” edgar’s tone turned colder. sharper. “you shoot her—they’ll find you in a ditch by morning. and that’s not a threat. that’s a guarantee.”

he took one small step forward. not reckless. measured. his hands still raised, palms open.

“she’s the only thing in this world i can’t rebuild from,” he said simply. “so if you’re going to ruin something, make it me.”

you weren’t breathing. neither was he.

just silence. just pressure. just edgar—standing between you and death, holding nothing but words and love and that terrifying kind of focus he saved for cases that were almost impossible to win.