I wait for three seconds, five seconds, then ten seconds, before I pick up the sub-machine gun on the floor and continue down the hallway; sparing a glance out the window and praying Luca is fine.
The weapon is heavy and foreign in my hands, but it’s a source of comfort and courage. I have to go outside. I have to get to the transport. I have to make sure my friends are fine. My sister does not get to win all the time, and I do not get to be the one constantly in need of rescuing.
I turn the corners fast, adrenaline fueling my movements, my grip on the gun tightening.
A bullet whizzes past my face.
I turn around quickly, back against the wall, looking for cover even as I aim the gun and fire at the four assassins fast approaching behind me. They fire back, and I duck through a door bli
