Page 44 of The Shape of my Scar
“You don’t have to do this,” Thane said, voice steady.
“Oh, but I do,” she replied. “Put itdown.”
But then, for a split second, her eyes darted over Thane’s shoulder. Something distracted her.
Her finger twitched on the trigger.
Thane moved, going for the gun at the back of his waist, but he wasn’t fast enough.
A shot rang out, followed by another milliseconds later.
Theodora gasped. Blood bloomed over her shoulder, staining her shirt like ink. She stumbled back, eyes wide, mouth open in shock.
Thane fired before he even registered what he was doing.
He was vaguely aware of Trish dropping in the corner of his vision, arms flailing as she crumpled to the floor.
But he didn’t look at her.
Because Theodora…
Theodora…
Her knees buckled, but she caught herself, staggering sideways. And then…
Her hand lifted.
She raised the gun.
Pointed it straight at him.
For just one ragged second, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t understand where he had gotten it wrong.
He didn’t even get the breath to askwhy.
Because that expression on her face—cold and feral—wasn’t the girl he thought he’d seen in the warehouse.
This wasn’t the ghost from his past.
It was someone who had made peace with violence. Someone who hadchosenit.
And that gun came up as if in slow-motion, aimed with intent.
In a split second, Theodora’s head snapped back. A neat hole appeared just above her brow.
She dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Then came the screaming.
The children.
All twenty or more had hit the ground like dominoes—flat, trembling, arms over their heads, faces to the floor.
Thane’s heart twisted.
He hadn’t warned them.
They just knew the sound of gunfire.
