“No. I adapted.”
“That’s not adapting.”
I rack the slide back with practiced accuracy.
“Those people were helping monsters harvest people like fucking livestock.”
“You saw what they were doing,” I don’t let up, “You heard what they admitted to doing.”
“I know.”
For a moment, silence lingers.
Tyler edges closer with caution.
“I know you’re angry.”
“Angry? Angry doesn't even come close.” I roll my shoulders a few times to loosen them.
“I think something inside me is splitting apart, and I’m leaning into the darker side.”
Tyler studies me before angling himself past me and tapping the button that sends the paper target gliding downrange, a human silhouette.
He shortens the space between us until I can feel him everywhere.
“If you lose yourself,” he says under his breath, “I’m coming with you.”
Something inside me cracks at that. I know he means it, every frightening word of it. My body stiffens.
“You shouldn’t.”
A faint smirk touches his mouth.
“It’s a little too late for shouldn’t.”
The second the silhouette locks into place, he nods toward it, challenging me.
We both pop in our electronic shooting earbuds.
“Shoot.”
I exhale once, lift my Glock, and fire.
The recoil rattles into my palms.
One shot. Then another. Then another.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. POP.
Every bullet punctures through the silhouette’s torso.
My heartbeat starts hammering wildly.
I barely hear the range anymore.
All I see is Florida.
Dark rooms.
