He doesn’t see Cole.
The intruder straightens just enough to clear his first angle, and that’s when Cole fires.
The sound detonates inside the bungalow and it’s not subtle.It is an explosion in a confined space that slams into my chest and rattles my teeth.The muzzle flash blooms like a sudden sunrise, blinding me for a split second.
I clap my hand over my mouth to stop my scream.
The man’s body snaps backward, his weapon flying from his grip as he collapses onto the hardwood floor.The impact is heavy and final, and he doesn’t move.I have no clue where the bullet landed but he’s not a threat anymore.
I’m frozen in place but Cole is already shifting his stance, pivoting toward the rear of the house.
Outside, there’s movement—faster now, less cautious.They heard the gunshot and they know that I’m not just peacefully waiting to get taken.
The back door explodes inward with a crack of splintering wood that tears my scream free.The force of it sends the door slamming against the interior wall as a second figure surges through the frame, weapon up, committing fully to the entry.
Cole fires before the intruder can orient.
The shots thunder through the house again—one, two, three—each one controlled but devastatingly loud.The recoil pulses through Cole’s arms, but his stance doesn’t waver.The rounds land high and center, driving the man backward as his forward momentum stalls mid-step.He tumbles onto the porch outside, his weapon clattering across the boards before disappearing from view.
The sudden silence afterward is so oppressive, I wonder if my eardrums have been blown.The air smells like burned metal and I’m still pressing my hand over my mouth, terrified that if I remove it, I’ll make a sound that shatters whatever fragile control Cole has over this moment.
He holds his position at the edge of the hallway, weapon trained on the open doorway, waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Somewhere outside, in the dark beyond the broken door, the rest of them are deciding what to do next.I can hear again… my own ragged breathing and now a faint ringing in my ears.
Cole shifts toward the edge of the kitchen doorway, weapon angled toward the yard.His posture changes subtly—lower, coiled, ready.
Seconds stretch thin and my mind spins.I feel like I’m about ready to splinter into a million pieces.
Are they coming?
Or retreating?
And how is Cole so calm?
I wait for the answers, but then they’re driven from my thoughts.Blinding white light floods through the shattered back door and the kitchen window simultaneously, so bright I have to shield my eyes.The yard beyond erupts into harsh illumination, shadows fleeing beneath hedges and across the fence line.
An engine roars and tires squeal.
“Jameson,” Cole mutters, relief threading briefly through the tension.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know they had someone close.All of this went down in a matter of seconds and they’re here.
Cole fishes his phone out again and studies the heat map of my yard.Shapes move—glowing red figures retreating fast toward the rear fence.There’s no return fire.No wild exchange.Just a clean withdrawal under the assault of light and exposure.
Cole shoves his phone into his pocket as he pivots toward the back door.He’s going after them and I reach out panicked, grabbing his arm and holding on like the house is collapsing.
“Don’t,” I whisper, and the word cracks in the middle.“Please don’t.”
He freezes, eyes searching mine in the gloom.I know he wants to give chase.Perhaps capture one to find out who is behind this.But they have guns too, and I can’t stomach the thought of him dying.
And in that split second, I see what he lives with every time I chase a story into danger.
