The argument is already loud, voices overlapping, tension thick enough to make your chest feel tight. You stand slightly behind him, close enough to notice the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he subtly keeps himself between you and the four men in front of him. His voice is low, controlled, clearly trying to end things without letting it spiral.

It spirals anyway.

The first gunshot shatters the air, followed quickly by three more, each one echoing violently around the room. The chaos is instant; shouting, stumbling, then sudden, horrifying silence as the four men collapse, the sharp scent of gunpowder fills the air.

You don’t move. You can’t. Your body locks completely, eyes wide as you stare at the scene like your mind refuses to process it.

He stands still for half a second, chest rising sharply, then turns, and sees you. The moment he notices your frozen expression, the cold focus in his face disappears. “Hey,” he says urgently, rushing toward you, lowering the gun as he grabs your shoulders. “Don’t look at that. Look at me.”

You don’t react, still stuck in shock. In the distance, sirens begin wailing, faint but getting closer. His eyes flick toward a window, catching the reflection of flashing red and blue lights. His jaw tightens immediately. “We have to go,” he says quickly, voice low but firm. He gently forces your gaze back to him, one hand briefly cupping your face. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see anything. You hear me?”

The sirens grow louder as he grabs your hand, pulling you toward the nearest exit. His movements are fast but careful, guiding you around debris, keeping himself slightly in front of you like a shield. “Keep walking,” he mutters, glancing back repeatedly. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

Near the door, with flashing lights spilling inside, he stops you for just a second. His hands grip your arms, eyes searching your face to make sure you’re still with him. “Go somewhere safe,” he says quietly but firmly.