Breathless ✓

Twenty-Two ✔

The morning sun casts a warm glow through the kitchen window as I sit at the table, picking at my breakfast. Rico joins me, a solemn expression on his face. The tension between us is palpable, a constant reminder of the dangerous world I find myself entangled in.

As we share a quiet breakfast, the door creaks open, and Christian walks in, his eyes tired, carrying the weight of the world. He doesn't notice us at first, lost in his own thoughts. The room falls silent, the air thick with unspoken words.

"Morning," Christian finally mumbles, catching sight of us.

"Morning," Rico and I reply in unison, our voices a bit too forced.

Christian pours himself a cup of coffee, and the atmosphere becomes increasingly awkward. I steal a glance at Rico, who avoids eye contact, focusing on his food.

"Anything new?" Christian asks, attempting to break the silence.

Rico shakes his head. "Same old, same old."

I clear my throat, trying to inject some normalcy into the strained atmosphere. "Christian, how are you? You look exhausted."

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, offering a weary smile. "Long night. Just dealing with some business."

The conversation stalls again, the awkwardness lingering like a heavy cloud. Before anyone can say more, the tranquility is shattered by the sound of breaking glass.

The three of us exchange alarmed glances, and without a word, Christian springs into action. He pulls me behind the kitchen island just as a barrage of gunfire erupts through the apartment.

"Stay down!" he commands, shielding me from the onslaught.

Time seems to slow as the cacophony of gunfire fills the air. Christian, a shield between the bullets and me, keeps me low behind the kitchen island. My heart pounds, and the taste of fear lingers on my tongue.

Rico, quick on his feet, takes cover beside a wall, returning fire with precision. The staccato rhythm of gunshots echoes through the apartment, and the acrid smell of gunpowder hangs in the air.

The attackers, masked and heavily armed, move with calculated aggression. They're professionals, and the thought sends a chill down my spine. Christian's movements are fluid, a dance of survival, as he strategically fires back, keeping them at bay.

"Victoria, stay down!" he repeats, his voice firm but edged with urgency.

I nod, my fingers clutching the edge of the kitchen island. The reality of the situation sinks in—a stark contrast to the awkward breakfast conversation just moments ago. The vulnerability of our existence in this perilous world becomes painfully evident.

The gunfire intensifies, punctuated by the occasional crash of furniture or shattering glass. Rico, exhibiting a calm resolve, coordinates with Christian as they work together to repel the attackers.

In the midst of the chaos, Christian steals a glance at me, his eyes conveying both determination and a silent promise of protection. I feel a mix of emotions—fear, gratitude, and an unspoken connection that transcends the turbulent circumstances.

Suddenly, the gunfire outside ceases, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Christian, still vigilant, scans the surroundings before signaling that it's safe to move.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

I nod, the reality of the danger settling in. "I'm fine," I manage to say, my voice shaky.

Rico joins us, his expression grim. "We need to get out of here. They might come back."

Christian nods, his focus unwavering. "Pack essentials. We can't stay here any longer."