Willow pressed her cheek against the cold tile, every muscle locked in place as if movement itself might summon attention. The floor smelled faintly of cleaner and dust, but beneath it lay something sharper, metallic, mixed with the dry bite of shattered glass. Each breath scraped through her chest, shallow and uneven, never quite filling her lungs the way it should have. Her heart beat so loudly she was certain it would betray her, a hard thudding that felt too big for her body.

The woman beside her had gone quiet. The earlier sobs had collapsed into shallow, trembling breaths that barely moved her chest. Willow could feel the vibration of it through the floor, through the place where their arms touched. The woman’s body was rigid, curled inward, as though fear had folded her in on herself. Behind the counter, the jeweler remained crouched, one hand braced against the cabinet door, his eyes fixed on the shattered entrance as if looking away might allow something to return.

Nothing happened.

For a moment that stretched too long, the mall seemed to hold its breath. The chaos outside stalled, suspended in a way that felt unnatural. No running. No shouting. Just a thick, waiting stillness, as though the building itself were listening.

Then the sound came again.

A gunshot.

Inside the jewelry store this time.

The noise slammed into the space with violent force, the concussion rippling through the glass cases and bouncing back in on itself. A display exploded outward as the bullet tore through it, the glass front bursting apart. Shards flew into the air, scattering like sudden rain, catching the light before turning sharp and cruel.

Willow cried out as fragments struck her arms and shoulder. Sharp pain bloomed instantly across her skin, stinging and burning all at once. She curled inward on instinct, lifting her forearms to shield her face as more glass rained down, slicing through fabric and skin alike. Each impact was small but vicious, a hundred tiny bites that left her skin throbbing.

Another shot followed.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, amplified by the walls and shattered surfaces until it felt as though it were happening inside her head. Her ears rang as the bullet punched through the next display case, the force sending jewelry and glass flying. A necklace snapped free and skittered across the floor, metal clinking uselessly against tile. A mirror cracked violently, splintering into jagged lines that warped everything they reflected.

The woman beside Willow screamed, a raw, tearing sound that cut through the ringing.

The jeweler shouted something Willow could not make out. His voice was swallowed by the echoing blast and the crash of breaking glass.

Willow tried to crawl, dragging herself backward. Her palms scraped over fragments that bit into her skin, tearing deep at her palms and knees. Pain flared sharp and immediate, but it barely registered. Everything felt distant, drowned beneath the roar of sound and adrenaline that flooded her system faster than she could process.

Another gunshot.

Closer.

The bullet tore through the aisle of glass cases at an angle, shattering one, then another, the force cascading forward in a violent line. The shockwave rippled through the floor. Willow felt the impact a split second later, not as a blow she could see, but as something that slammed into her body from the inside, sudden and wrong.

It was not like the movies.

There was no dramatic force throwing her backward.

Just a brutal, stunning hit to her right side, deep and sudden, as if the air itself had struck her hard.

The breath left her lungs in a silent rush. Her body jolted as the world tilted violently, the floor rushing up to meet her. She collapsed hard, her shoulder striking tile as a white hot pain exploded outward from her side. It stole thought and sound alike, leaving only sensation.

For a moment, there was nothing.

The bullet tore through her thin dress as if it were nothing at all, the fabric offering no resistance, no warning. The realization arrived dimly, disconnected, alongside an odd awareness of cool air against torn material and skin that suddenly felt exposed. Her body felt wrong, misaligned, as if something essential had shifted out of place without permission. The floor beneath her seemed too hard, too close, every detail sharpened to an unbearable clarity. Somewhere in the distance, glass continued to fall, but it sounded muffled, as though she were underwater.

Then sensation rushed back in fragments.

Burning spread outward from her side, fierce and consuming.

Pressure followed, heavy and unrelenting.

Warmth seeped where it should not have been.

Willow gasped, a thin, broken sound tearing from her throat. Her hand flew to her side on instinct, fingers pressing desperately as if she could hold herself together by force alone. When she pulled her hand back, it was slick.

Red.

Not everywhere, but enough to know this was real.

Her vision blurred almost immediately. The edges of the world darkened and closed in as panic surged in behind the pain, fast and overwhelming, stealing whatever breath she managed to drag in.

"I’m hit," someone whispered nearby, the voice distant and unfamiliar, the words floating oddly in the air. It took a heartbeat too long for Willow to understand that the voice was hers.

Willow tried to speak.

Her mouth opened. Air moved. But the words tangled somewhere between fear and shock and refused to come out the way she needed them to. All she managed was a small, broken sound before the effort drained what little strength she had.

"No," she whispered instead, barely audible, the word nothing more than weak denial.

Her body curled inward, muscles tightening without her consent as the pain sharpened again, no longer distant but immediate and alive. Each breath felt wrong, incomplete, as if her lungs could not fully expand. Glass crunched beneath her cheek as she shifted, the sound sharp and grating, grounding her in the worst possible way.

Another shot rang out, farther away now.

For several seconds, nothing else followed.