Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. We're all statues pressed against the wall, exactly as instructed.
Seconds tick by like hours. I count them in my head—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—reaching thirty when the young man with spiky hair and a nose ring finally breaks the silence.
"Fuck, the assholes took my phone. It was an I16." His voice cracks with indignation, like the phone matters more than our lives.
Julian gives the guy a pointed look. "Language," he murmurs, nodding toward Emmy, who's curled against her mother's chest, small hiccuping sobs still shaking her tiny frame.
The young man rolls his eyes but mutters a reluctant "Sorry."
The cashier stands first, her hands still trembling. "I'm calling the police." She hurries behind the counter to grab the landline phone.
I flex my fingers, feeling returning to my limbs. The terror is fading, replaced by a strange floating sensation, like I'm watching everything from slightly above my body.
"Everyone okay?" Julian asks, his voice gentle as he scans our little group of survivors.
The elderly man nods, adjusting his glasses. "Been through worse in Nam."
Eileen is stroking Emmy's hair, whispering reassurances. "We're fine," she says, though her voice trembles. "Thank you," she adds, looking directly at Julian.
I find my voice at last. "That was...that was really good what you did. With the gummy bears."
Julian shrugs, a hint of color touching his cheeks. "Kids need distractions. And magic."
His eyes meet mine, and despite everything—the robbery, the guns, the fear still coursing through my system—I feel that strange connection again—something warm and unexpected in the aftermath of chaos.
Emmy sniffles, looking up at Julian with red-rimmed eyes. "Do you have another green one?"
My legs have gone numb against the cold linoleum floor, but none of us have moved much. We're all still pressed against the wall like frightened children, even though the men with guns are long gone.
"My wallet had photos of my kids," the elderly man says, his voice quavering. "Can't replace those."
The young couple laments their credit cards, IDs, and the girl’s grandmother's locket that was in her purse. Everyone's tallying their losses, still processing what just happened.
"This is the second time this has happened to me," the cashier says after hanging up, her eyes hollow. "First time was three months ago. Same deal—three guys, masks, guns."
"You're still working here after that?" I ask, incredulous.
She shrugs, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "My dad owns the place. Family business. What am I gonna do?"
Eileen stands, finally helping Emmy to her feet. The girl clutches her mother's hand.
"They cut the phone line," the cashier tells us.
Julian stands up, brushing dust from his black jeans. "I'll check the landline in the back."
He disappears behind the counter, and I find myself watching him go, still feeling the ghost of his hand in mine. A few moments later, he returns, shaking his head.
"Line's been cut," he announces. "They knew what they were doing."
Everyone groans collectively. We're stranded here without phones, without a way to contact anyone.
I glance at my watch, wondering if Daniel is freaking out yet. He's probably called ten times already, getting increasingly angry with each unanswered ring. The thought of explaining this to him exhausts me.
Julian slides back down beside me, our shoulders almost touching. "You okay?" he asks quietly.
His concern feels genuine in a way that Daniel's never does, and I'm not sure what to do with that.
"We can't just wait here," Julian says finally. "Those guys are long gone.”
