Page 187 of Surfer's Paradise

For the first time all night, she thought maybe—just maybe—they were going to make it out of this event in one piece.

The security guard opened the door ahead. Just a crack of outside noise came in—seagulls, cars, faint shouts down the block.

Rosie stepped through first.

She didn’t see it at first—not until Isaac’s entire body went rigid beside her.

He shoved her behind him so fast she stumbled, her back hitting the cool concrete wall.

“What—” she started.

“Get back inside,” Isaac said low, his voice different now. Not angry. Not frustrated. Commanding.

Rosie blinked. And then she saw what he did.

A man was shouting across the alley. Disheveled. Feral.

Grey hair. Gaunt face. Bony shoulders beneath a too-big jacket.

Rosie’s blood ran cold.

It was like her lungs seized.

Troy.

She didn’t know how—how he found them, how he got here—but it was him. And in his hand—

Oh god.

“Gun,” Isaac snapped.

He shoved her farther behind him, his own body shifting like a machine—fluid, ruthless, automatic. She didn’t even know what to do. Didn’t even know how fast he moved.

Everything exploded.

Shouts.

Screams.

The gun raised.

And Isaac was already moving. A blur of black suit and sharp instinct.

“No—” Rosie screamed, reaching for him.

But he was gone. Charging.

The shot cracked the air.

She flinched.

Chris grabbed her.

Shay shouted something.

And then—Isaac collided with Troy.

The gun fired two more times and then hit the concrete.

---