The voice echoes down the hallway, sharp and clear, freezing everyone in their tracks. For a moment, I can't believe what I'm hearing. That voice—it can't be.
But it is.
"Put the gun down, or I'll make you."
The figure that steps into the dim light of the hallway is tall, dressed in black, and moves with an aura of confidence I've never seen before. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the figure standing before us.
It's Max.
Max—the guy who disappeared months ago, the guy I thought I'd never see again. His presence here, now, is impossible to comprehend. How is he here? What's he doing in this situation?
The gunman seems caught off guard, their finger wavering on the trigger for just a second.
"I said put it down," Max repeats, his tone cold, commanding. "You don't want to make me do something you'll regret."
The tension in the air intensifies, and I can feel the world around me hold its breath. The gunman hesitates, clearly assessing Max, but something in their stance tells me they're not intimidated. Still, Max doesn't budge. His eyes lock onto the gunman's with a chilling calmness, as though he's been in situations like this before—and has come out on top.
"I don't know who you think you are," the gunman sneers, but there's a hint of doubt in their voice now, "but you're not in charge here."
Max doesn't flinch. "I don't need to be in charge," he says, his voice steady. "I just need to make sure you don't shoot anyone."
My head is spinning. This makes no sense. Max was just another guy in my life who vanished without a trace, someone who never looked like he was involved in anything dangerous, let alone in a situation like this. Yet here he is—an unexpected ally.
Leah seems to recognize Max, her eyes narrowing. "You're a fool if you think you can stop this," she snaps, her voice low and dangerous.
Max smirks, his eyes never leaving the gunman. "Maybe," he replies, "but I'm willing to take that chance."
I take a hesitant step forward, feeling the weight of the moment crash down on me. Everything's changing so quickly, so unpredictably. One minute, I'm standing here with Ethan and Leah, terrified and confused, and the next minute, Max is here, as if out of nowhere, as if he's been waiting for this exact moment.
But what's his role in all of this?
I open my mouth to ask, but before I can speak, Ethan moves toward me, his face tight with something I can't read. "Max shouldn't be here," he says quietly, almost to himself. "None of us should be here."
I turn to him, my confusion deepening. "What are you talking about? How is Max involved in this? What's going on, Ethan? Please, just tell me."
He looks at me, his expression torn. "Amara, I never wanted you to be a part of any of this. But Max? He's a part of it whether we like it or not. He's as deep in this mess as I am."
Max's eyes flick toward us, and though he doesn't say anything, I feel a shift in the air. There's a hidden layer to his presence, something I can't place. Something… dark.
The gunman finally lowers their weapon, but not by much. They still hold it with a firm grip, their finger resting lightly on the trigger. "You'll regret this, all of you," they warn, their voice tinged with frustration. "You have no idea what you're getting yourselves into."
But Max doesn't seem intimidated. He takes a step closer, his eyes cold. "I'm not afraid of you," he says, his voice low but carrying authority. "And neither is she." He gestures toward me.
I don't know why, but hearing him say that causes a surge of something within me—strength, maybe, or determination. Maybe I don't understand everything, but in this moment, I know one thing for sure: I can't let them control me anymore.
The silence that follows is unbearable. For a second, I almost expect the gunman to strike, to end this whole standoff in a split second. But they don't. They only stare, sizing Max up, as if trying to figure out if he's bluffing.
Max's gaze never wavers, and I can feel the tension building in my chest. This is the tipping point. The choice I thought I had to make isn't mine alone anymore. I don't have to choose between sides anymore—not if I'm not playing the game they want me to play.
But then, just as I think we might be in the clear, a sudden noise echoes from the direction of the stairs. Footsteps—loud, rapid, purposeful.
The gunman reacts instantly, their grip tightening. "They're here."
I freeze. "Who?" I whisper, barely able to speak.
Max doesn't answer right away. His eyes dart toward the stairs, his jaw clenched. "Trouble," he mutters. "A lot of it."