Jessica’s cornered.
Half-lit.
My gaze locks on the revolver.
Alicia’s five feet back.
The desk between her and a gun.
Pointed at her. Not precisely.
A tremor.
Too damn close.
A flash of terror steals my wits.
For one slashing second, every nightmare I’ve had about losing someone detonates behind my ribs. Then training shoves terror aside.
“Jessica. Put it down.”
Her arm jerks—pointing the gun at me.
That’s better.
My weight falls over the balls of my feet.
Shoulders forward.
Hands slightly open.
Ready to strike.
I inch forward.
Slow.
Imperceptible.
The gun trembles.
She’s panicked.
Or high. Or gone.
“Lower it.”
The whites of her eyes flash.
“What’re we doing here, Jess?”
“Jessica’s going to leave.” Alicia breathes out, voice soft.
Scared.
“We’re going to?—”
“Shut up!” Jessica shrieks.