There’s a smoking bullet hole in the wall.
The sound of the gunshot keeps ricocheting and echoing in my head even long after the silence of the night is restored. There’s a silencer attached to it, but even the dulled version of the gunshot is like a warning bell that screams in my consciousness, paralyzing me. I momentarily feel nauseated; like I might just bend over and throw up, but my blinding panic passes as swiftly as it arrived and my mind returns to my body.
All four of us stand still like time as we know it has stopped.
But nobody hits the floor. There is no body lying on the carpet, bleeding. Nobody is in agonizing pain. Nobody is dying.
I release a shaky breath of relief.
Dmitri stands by the doorway, his body still tilted to the side where he’d dodged the bullet. His expre
