Arkan met Zara's gaze, the pistol a cold weight in his hand. Her eyes, bruised and tired, held an unyielding fire he hadn't seen before. The plea wasn't for comfort, but for purpose. He saw the shift in her, the final shedding of the pampered socialite. A ghost of a smile, grim and knowing, touched his lips.
"Alright," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Hold it like this. Firm. You want control, not just brute force." He demonstrated the grip, his fingers wrapping around the worn handle. "It's heavy, but the kick isn't too bad if you brace properly."
Zara nodded, her jaw set. She took the pistol from him, her hands still trembling slightly, but she mimicked his grip with surprising precision. The metal was cold against her skin, solid and real. This is it, she thought. No turning back now
