A shaky nod.
Good enough.
Another scream erupted outside.
Then a gunshot.
Close.
The children huddled tighter together near the floor, crying quietly now instead of loudly—the kind of fear that settled deeper than panic.
Hannah’s pulse hammered hard against her ribs, but her hands stayed steady.
Always steady.
The van doors suddenly ripped open.
Blinding sunlight flooded the interior.
Then shadows.
Armed men filled the entrance with rifles raised.
Faces covered.
Movements disciplined.
Weapons military-grade.
Not random militants.
Not desperate thieves.
These men knew exactly what they were doing.
“Out,” one barked.
Nobody moved immediately.
The rifle lifted slightly.
“NOW.”
Hannah slowly raised her hands.
Not submissive.
Calculating.
Three visible.
At least two more outside based on movement.
No cover.
No viable escape route yet.
The barrel of a rifle shoved hard into her shoulder.
