Everything happens too fast.
The gunshot echoes again—BANG!—sharp and close, followed by a chorus of shouts—YELLING—boots pounding—THUMP THUMP THUMP—as officers surge forward.
"Down! Everyone down!"
Serafin slams into me—THUD—his body shielding mine as we hit the asphalt hard. Pain flares along my shoulder, but adrenaline drowns it out.
"Caoimhe, don't move," he growls.
"I'm not—" My voice shakes as another shot rings out—BANG!—followed by glass shattering—CRASH—somewhere near the cruisers.
I twist my head just enough to see Declan.
He's not running.
He's standing there, arm extended, gun shaking slightly in his hand. His eyes lock on mine—not panicked, not wild.
Focused.
"You should've let it go," he says calmly, almost regretful.
"Drop the weapon!" an officer shouts. "Now!"
Declan laughs softly. "You think this ends with cuffs?"
Serafin shifts, trying to move me further behind him. "Don't look at him," he mutters. "Stay with me."
But I can't look away.
"Why?" I shout, my voice tearing through the noise. "Why keep doing this?"
Declan's jaw tightens. "Because you don't get to rewrite history."
Another officer edges closer—CRUNCH—gun trained. "Sir, last warning."
Declan glances at him, unimpressed. "You're standing in a story you don't understand."
Then he looks back at me. "Tell them. Tell them you started the fire."
"I didn't," I scream. "You locked the doors."
A ripple of tension moves through the officers—murmurs, sharp looks.
Declan's smile falters. Just barely.
"That's a lie," he snaps.
Serafin stiffens beneath me. "You said you altered statements."
Declan's eyes flick to him. "I said what was necessary."
The paramedic crawls toward us—SCRAPE—keeping low. "Ma'am, are you hit?"
"I don't know," I whisper. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely feel them.
"Stay still," she says.
Declan exhales slowly, like he's losing patience. "This is pointless. She's already made up her mind."
An officer steps closer. "Sir, put the gun down."
Declan raises it instead—CLICK—and time fractures.
Serafin moves instantly, pushing himself up—GRUNT—trying to stand between us.
"Serafin, no!" I scream.
Another shot—BANG!—erupts.
Everything goes silent for half a second.
Then pain screams.
Serafin stumbles—THUD—his weight collapsing onto me. Warmth spreads across my hands.
"No—no no no—" I choke, scrambling upright. "Serafin!"
Officers tackle Declan—CRASH—bodies slamming into the ground. He shouts—angry, incoherent—while cuffs snap shut—CLICK CLICK—metal biting into skin.
"Call it in!" someone yells. "We've got shots fired, one down!"
I press my hands against Serafin's side, blood soaking my fingers—SQUELCH—slick and terrifying.
"Hey," he breathes, voice thin. "I'm okay. I'm—"
"Don't," I sob. "Don't you dare lie to me."
The paramedic slides in beside us—SCRAPE—gloved hands already working. "Pressure here. Hard."
I press down, shaking violently. "Stay with me. Please. You don't get to leave."
His lips twitch faintly. "You're bossy."
I laugh hysterically through tears. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up and breathe."
Sirens wail closer—WEE-OO WEE-OO—flooding the night.
Declan is hauled upright nearby—GRUNT—his eyes still locked on me. Blood trickles from a cut on his forehead.
"You see?" he calls out. "This is what happens when you dig."
"Get him out of here," an officer snaps.
Declan doesn't look away from me. "They'll tear you apart for this. Every truth has a price."
I glare at him, tears streaking my face. "Then I'll pay it. But you don't get to collect."
He smiles faintly as he's dragged away—BOOTSTEPS—vanishing behind flashing lights.
The paramedic presses harder. "Stay with me, sir. Eyes open."
Serafin groans softly. "Hurts like hell."
"Good," I choke. "That means you're alive."
She glances at me. "Bullet grazed him. We need to move him now."
They lift him carefully—RUSTLE—and I stand, dizzy, blood still on my hands.
"Can I ride with him?" I ask desperately.
The officer nods. "Yes. But we'll need your statement after."
I swallow hard. "I'll tell you everything."
Serafin looks at me as they load him onto the stretcher—CLANG—eyes steady despite the pain.
"You did it," he murmurs. "You didn't stay quiet."
I squeeze his hand. "Neither did you."
The ambulance doors swing open—CREAK—then slam shut—BANG—sirens roaring to life—WEE-OO WEE-OO—
As we pull away, I look back through the small rear window.
Police lights flood the scene. Officers swarm. Evidence markers appear—CLACK—dotting the ground like punctuation marks in a sentence that's finally being written.
But even as relief tries to settle, something cold twists in my gut.
Because Declan's voice still echoes in my head.
Every truth has a price.
And I know—deep down—that tonight was only the first payment.