I refused. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot her. She was just sixteen. A kid.

She stood there, trembling, clutching a doll against her chest. It wasn’t just any doll. It was a dark wolf, its face hidden behind a white mask.

I recognized it instantly. My mother had designed that exact toy years ago, before she passed. I could still see the prototype in her workshop, hear her voice as she told me stories about how brave the wolf was. It had been a piece of my childhood, and now, here it was in the hands of a terrified girl thousands of miles from home.

But Joshua didn’t care. He had no heart. He insisted she was a threat—an insurgent in disguise. A decoy. A spotter. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He wanted her dead.

I don’t care if it was out of my control. I couldn’t save her. It’s my fault. My boots are stained with her blood. I just snapped. I shoved Joshua and ran. Ran until I found an abandoned building where no one could see me.

I cowered in the corner, shaking, and pulled out my gun. I pressed it to my face, both hands on the grip, pushing it toward my mouth. The pressure built… and I threw it away. It clattered on the floor.

It was my happy place.