Page 282 of Ruins
Grip.
Stance.
Sight alignment.
The mechanics are etched into my mind. But what terrifies me isn’t the act of pulling the trigger. It’s what comes after. The life I might take. The blood I might spill. The elevator keeps descending. And with it, so does my hope.
It feels like I’m being lowered into an abyss, an endless void with no rope to pull me back up. The distant echo of gunfire above grows fainter, drowned beneath the ragged sound of my own breath and the thunder of my racing heartbeat.
“Vasilisa, you have to do this,” I mutter to myself, my jaw clenched, every muscle in my body wound tight with dread and resolve.
The elevator slows, and I know, justknow, that in a few seconds, the doors will slide open to reveal my fate. The cold steel of the gun feels heavier in my hand now, yet somehow empowering, grounding me in the only reality I have left. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
The doors slide open.
And what used to be beautiful—the open floor plan I once adored—now feels like a cage.
My heart sinks as my eyes lock onto the two figures standing about ten feet away. Their grins are sinister, gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, the world seems to slow.
Time slows.
They start moving toward me, but instead of retreating further into the elevator, like my instincts scream at me to do, I force myself to stand straighter.
I lift the gun, pointing it directly at the closest figure.
“Back off,” I warn, my voice shaking but steady. Any hint of fear will only push them closer.
And just as the first figure lunges forward, I squeeze the trigger.
The shot rings out, a brutal crack that shatters the silence.
He drops.
The force of it—the finality—is instantaneous. A violent jerk of his body before he crumples to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
Right between the eyes.
My stomach lurches.
I stare, frozen, my breath strangled in my throat as a dark bloom of red spreads beneath his skull. His body twitches, just once, before going unnervingly still.
The smell of gunpowder lingers, burning my nose, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. I feel like I’m floating, like my mind has ripped from my body, hovering somewhere above me, watching in numb disbelief. I just— I just shot someone in the head.
A blur of movement.
The second man lunges.
The gleam of steel catches my eye. I barely register the knife in his hand before his body slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs.
The gun slips from my grip, skidding across the floor.
I thrash, but his hands clamp down on me, his weight crushing. I react on instinct.
My elbow crashes into his jaw, the sharp clack of his teeth slamming together echoing in my ears as the impact reverberates through my arm.
He grunts, staggering back, his grip loosening just enough—
