One thing was obvious — Shauna was mad. Mad at everyone.

And for a while, you didn’t blame her. Maybe it was because you’d been there since the sandbox days with her and Jackie. Or maybe it was because you were standing there when she lost everything — Jackie, her baby, any sense that the world would ever be normal again.

Everything except you.

You were the last thing she had left.

So she kept her distance, even when you tried to talk to her. Tried to make sure she was eating, sleeping, breathing. She’d shove you away with words like knives because she couldn’t bear the thought of needing you — needing anything — only to watch it disappear too.

She acted like she hated you. But you knew better. You always saw through her shit. That was your curse.

What you didn’t expect was for her to point the rifle at Melissa. Especially since, by some miracle, they’d found something close to comfort with each other in this hell.

You never liked Melissa. Not really. Not since she’d spat on Jackie’s memory like it meant nothing. But that didn’t matter. Nobody else was doing a damn thing, so you stepped between them.

The cold barrel shifted, lined up with your chest instead.

“Put the gun down, Shipman,” you whispered, eyes locked on hers.

“Move,” she shot back, voice low and shaking. “Get out of the way.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. “Can’t do that.”

“Move!” she snapped louder this time, the word cracking like ice underfoot. Her finger tensed around the trigger.

You took a breath. Slow. Careful. “You don’t wanna do this, Shaun.”

“Don’t tell me what I want!” Her eyes were wild, darting from your face to Melissa behind you and back again. “Move before I put this through you instead.”

“You won’t,” you said, soft. Like you were sure. Like you were daring her to prove you wrong.

Her nostrils flared. “You think you know me? You think you know what I’m capable of now?”

You almost laughed. Almost. “Yeah. I do. That’s the problem.”

For a second, her eyes glistened — and you saw her. Not the rifle. Not the threat. Just Shauna, knees scraped on a sidewalk, Jackie’s hand in hers, your shadow behind her. The same pathetic yearning in your eyes now as back then, the one that begged her to be okay so you could be okay too.

“Stop it,” she hissed. The barrel dug into your sternum. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Shauna, please—”

“Last warning. Move.”

“No.”

She clenched her teeth so hard you could see her jaw twitch. Her whole body trembled, rage and grief and terror twisting her face into something feral.

Then the rifle jerked in her hands.

The shot cracked out, deafening. Bark exploded from the tree behind you, shards raining down your back.

You didn’t flinch. Neither did she.

Smoke curled from the barrel between you as her breath shuddered in the cold air.

You looked at her the same way. Like you always did.

“…Feel better now?” you asked, voice hoarse.

Her hands fell limp around the rifle. She didn’t drop it, but she didn’t hold it up either.

“Don’t you ever—” her voice splintered, a sob buried under rage. “Don’t you ever look at me like that again.”

You stepped closer until the barrel brushed your ribs. Close enough you could smell the powder and the salt of her tears she refused to let fall.