Two masked men move through the shattered entrance. A third stays outside, firing in controlled bursts that keep us pinned. They don’t rush. They move like they know exactly what they’re here for.
I crawl toward the counter, keeping low, and reach behind it. My fingers close around the shotgun. It is old and heavy, but it is loaded.
“Keep down,” I whisper. “Stay low.”
The first masked man moves down the cereal aisle, weapon raised, checking each row with slow precision. I press myself flat against the tile in the next aisle over and wait until he passes.
Then I shift, aim low, and fire.
The blast tears through his shin. Bone gives out. He screams and drops hard, his rifle clattering across the tile and skidding out of reach. He drags himself forward, fingers slipping in his own blood as he reaches for it.
I pump the shotgun and rise into a crouch.
He keeps crawling, leaving a thick smear behind him. His breathing turns wet and uneven. The second man’s shadow cuts across the shelves a few aisles over, searching, closing in.
I step in behind the first one.
He stretches his fingers toward the rifle.
I fire.
The shot drives through his back at close range. His body jerks, then collapses over the weapon he never reaches.
The second masked man shouts and shifts position. The one outside keeps firing through the broken windows, glass still raining down in sharp bursts.
The second man inside charges down the opposite aisle, trying to flank me. I drop back behind a shelf and wait, forcing myself to breathe through the noise.
He steps into view between two displays.
I fire again.
The blast catches him high in the torso and throws him sideways into a rack of canned goods. Metal crashes. He doesn’t get back up.
Movement flashes at the entrance.
The last man pivots, trying to retreat. Seth appears in the doorway at the same time, gun already up, moving fast, locked in. The masked man turns toward him. For a second, the angle lines up wrong.
I fire first.
The shot hits him from the side and spins him into the doorframe. He drops hard and doesn’t move again.
Smoke hangs in the air. The clerk lies behind the counter, motionless. Blood spreads across the cracked tile. My arms start to shake as the adrenaline burns off, leaving everything cold and hollow. He didn’t deserve to die for a basket of chips and a panicked lie.
Seth steps inside, sweeping the store, gun still raised. He moves past the bodies, then slows.
His gaze drops to the nearest one. He crouches, yanks the mask off.
There’s a pause. Then his jaw tightens.
“…Sergei,” he mutters.
His expression goes colder, something shifting behind his eyes that I recognize immediately. The pool. The way they moved. The way they watched.
“They’re not random.” He stands again his expression flattening. “They were in the pool.”
I look back toward Elise and Ryan, still curled into each other behind the aisle.
“They came for the kids..
