The Shot That Shattered The Night

Gunfire erupted, shattering the floor-to-ceiling windows. The cold harbor wind whipped through the room, sending papers flying like panic-stricken birds.

Arthur tackled Harper to the ground, shielding her with his body as bullets chewed through the leather sofa above them.

"Kitchen! Move!" Arthur roared over the deafening noise.

Harper crawled frantically over the glass-strewn floor, her waitress uniform tearing at the knees. They scrambled behind the heavy marble island.

Tommy was returning fire from the hallway, his face pale. "It's the Scarred Man!" he shouted, reloading his clip. "Moretti sent his best!"

Harper curled her knees to her chest. She was a pharmacology student. She knew how to titrate beta-blockers and memorize molecular weights. She didn't know how to survive a warzone.

"Arthur," Tommy yelled, sliding behind the island with them. "We're pinned! The fire escape is blocked!"

Arthur checked his weapon. "Three bullets left." He looked at Harper, his eyes fierce but entirely calm. "I promised your mother I would protect you. I intend to keep it."

But Harper noticed something Tommy didn't.

When Tommy reloaded, he hadn't fully clicked the magazine into place. And his eyes weren't looking at the door. They were calculating the distance to Arthur's back.

Reversal: Tommy wasn't panicked. Tommy was waiting for his moment.

"Look out!" Harper screamed.

She shoved Arthur hard. At that exact second, Tommy raised his gun toward Arthur's head and fired. The bullet grazed Arthur's ribcage instead, tearing through his suit jacket. Arthur grunted, falling sideways.

Tommy cursed and racked his slide, stepping over Arthur to finish the job.

Harper didn't think. Instinct took over. She grabbed a heavy glass jar of flour from the counter, swung it with all her might, and smashed it directly against Tommy’s face. The thick white powder exploded in a dense cloud, blinding him instantly.

Tommy shrieked, firing blindly into the ceiling. Arthur swept his leg out, kicking Tommy’s feet out from under him. The traitor hit the marble floor, unconscious.

"Go, go, go!" Arthur grabbed Harper’s hand, pulling her toward the service elevator. He swiped a keycard, and the doors slid open. They threw themselves inside just as the Scarred Man rounded the corner.

The doors clamped shut. The elevator descended.

Harper slumped against the steel wall, gasping for air. She looked over at Arthur. His hand was pressed hard against his side. Blood was seeping through his fingers, staining his crisp white shirt a deep, terrifying crimson.

"You're shot," she breathed.

"It's through and through," Arthur grimaced, his skin turning gray. He reached into his coat pocket with a trembling, blood-slicked hand and pulled out a small, crumpled train ticket. He pressed it into Harper's palm.

"Take this," he rasped.

Harper looked at the ticket. It was dated 1998. On the back, in her mother’s unmistakable handwriting, were three words: St. Jude’s Orphanage.

"That's where Leo is," Arthur coughed, sliding slowly down the elevator wall. "You have to go without me, Harper. Save the boy."

His eyes fluttered closed.