The tiny, blood red optical laser dot remained perfectly still, a lethal crimson eye burning right into the center of Sasha’s navy-blue military blanket. The high pitched, metallic groan of the glass pane cracking under the outside vacuum pressure pump vibrated through the floorboards of Room 104, chilling the marrow in my bones. In that split second, the beautiful peace we had just found inside the naval recovery wing felt like a fragile porcelain cup shattering against concrete.
"Get behind the bed!" Leo’s voice didn't rise; it dropped into a terrifying, frozen whisper that carried more authority than a colonel's shout.
Before the shooter on the utility ledge could squeeze the trigger, my brother’s rough, scarred hand didn't move toward his holster. He grabbed the heavy, solid oak beds
