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I step over him.

“You don’t get to touch me.”

His mouth opens.

I drive the arrow through his eye.

His body arches, a broken scream ripping out of him. He twitches, fingers clawing at nothing, heels kicking against the floor. The sound fills the aisle. Wet. Desperate. Begging.

I don’t look away.

He would have liked me scared.

He doesn’t get that either.

I grab another arrow from the floor.

His body jerks once more as I drive it into his chest.

The silence after is immediate and thick, broken only by my breathing.

And Leon’s.

He stands a few feet away, gun hanging loose at his side, blood on his knuckles, white primer dusting one shoulder. Two bodies. Broken shelves. Scattered nails. A crushed box of screws spilling across the tile.

And Leon.

Only Leon.

The last time he watched me break something, we stood in a jewelry store surrounded by shattered glass and glittering stones. Back then, I was trying to prove I could destroy the lies people left inside me.

Now there are bodies on the floor.

Men who thought my fear would make me easy.

And Leon doesn’t look surprised.

He looks like he knew this woman was in me the whole time. Like he’s been waiting for me to see her too.

I have come a long way from that jewelry store.

Every ugly word I almost believed burns on the way down.

Burden.

Broken.

Too much.

Not enough.

They fall away one by one, useless things hitting the floor with the rest of the garbage.

I don’t have to earn him by surviving this.

I was worthy before the shot. Before the crowbar. Before the training. Before I believed it.

Leon’s gaze burns into mine. His chest rises hard. Mine does too. Neither of us moves, but the space between us feels charged enough to spark.