He should have finished it.I could see the resolve in his face.He wanted to.But something stopped him.
Something he hated the moment it existed.
The gun pulled back an inch.Just enough for oxygen to burn my throat on the way in.
“Stay down,” he whispered.
He rose slowly, like he was testing the decision, as though considering if he were making a mistake.My body curled inward the second his weight lifted, instinct dragging me toward the shadows.
The footsteps grew louder.
“This room’s empty,” a man called.
Grey Eyes turned his head toward the voice, then he looked back at me.His jaw ticked hard, the muscle jumping.He was already regretting this.
I didn’t move or make a sound.I was too afraid to even breathe.
A heartbeat passed.Then another.
There was one second of hesitation.One second that told me he knew he’d made a mistake.One second that told me he knew exactly what kind of mistake it was.
I closed my eyes and stayed perfectly quiet while the last pieces of my life were torn apart around me, my hands pressed against a floor that was already slick with the blood of those I had known and loved.
2
Atlas - Age 19
It was a candy wrapper that was her undoing.
I found her in the pantry—quite by chance—after I ducked into the kitchen to make sure there were no Trimboli survivors.I was met with the sound of crackling from the walk in pantry beyond the expansive chef’s kitchen.
I flung the pantry door open and there she was.
The girl looked up at me.And everything stopped.
Her hazel eyes weren’t pleading.They were empty.Shocked.Like she’d already crossed whatever line separated the living from the dead.
A child shouldn’t look like that.
My stomach twisted once.It was a fast, unwanted feeling, and I shoved it down, hard.
Do it, Atlas.Finish the job.Don’t make this harder than it already was.
She flinched as I pressed the gun deeper into her temple.Her hands shook, tapping against the tile.She probably couldn’t have stopped it if she tried.Her breath hitched in her chest like it hurt her to breathe.
Why did that look in her eyes matter so much to me?And when she whispered that plea…low and mournful… I shouldn’t have cared.I should have just pulled the trigger.But for some unknown reason, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
My grip tightened.My jaw locked.I hated myself for being a coward.For freezing and letting mercy have a seat at the table.I hated that one small, terrified girl could get under my skin and change the trajectory of the night.
I raised the gun again, forcing the instinct back into place.My conscience warred with me even as my inner voice tried to override it.
Just do it.
Kill her.
End it.
But her eyes didn’t close.She just stared at me, her lips trembling, waiting for the shot that would kill her.She looked me straight in the eyes, terrified but delivering a dare I could not turn away from.