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A sound tears out of me, thin and useless.

Leon moves.

Fast.

He vaults the counter, grabs the back of Kevin’s shirt, and rips him away from me. Kevin’s fingers tear loose from my sleeve, and I slam back against the shelves hard enough to knock more bottles down.

Leon grabs the hatchet from my hand and drives it into Kevin’s skull.

Once.

Twice.

Kevin drops behind the counter, one arm knocking over a display of lip balm. Strawberry, cherry, vanilla mint, and Kevin’s skull leakage roll together across the floor.

I stare down at the body. Then at my hands.

One still wrapped around the crowbar. Both shaking.

I had the weapons.

I had the training.

I still froze.

My breathing turns too fast, too shallow. The pharmacy tilts, shelves leaning in, stale air pressing against my throat.

Leon steps toward me.

I flinch.

He stops immediately.

The hurt that flickers across his face is gone almost as soon as it appears, but it still lands on me like a bruise.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head before I finish and pulls out the notebook. Fear is not failure.

My eyes sting. “That felt pretty failure-y.”

Leon’s pencil moves again, but I can’t look at the page yet.

“It’s not just me,” I whisper.

He stills.

My grip tightens around the crowbar until my knuckles ache. “When I freeze, I don’t just think about dying. I think about Poppy standing there while I can’t move. I think about something getting to her because my body picked that exact second to stop working.”

The words come out smaller than I want them to.

“If I fail, she pays for it.”

Leon’s face changes. He turns the notebook toward me. Then we train that too.

He writes again.

Also, stop being so mean to my friend.