The flare ignites the night sky, painting everything in haunting crimson. Shadows stretch and twist beneath its glow, flickering against faces frozen in shock.
You don’t hear the second shot—only see the aftermath. The world slows, blurs, warps around the weight of what just happened.
Then—movement.
A uniformed figure steps forward, the concern in her eyes cutting through the haze. “Hey… hey, just breathe. You’re okay.”
You’re not.
Your pulse pounds against your skull. The world tilts. The air closes in.
And then—you're running.
