?????? ??

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.............................
Present Day
.............................

Warner's grip on the gun tightens as I stubbornly keep my hand pressed to the barrel, my fingers wrapped tightly around his gloved fingers. My pulse races in my throat, but my resolve holds firm.

"Let go, Wrenlee," Warner demands, his voice low but unyielding, the kind of command that sends a chill down my spine.

I shake my head, not releasing my hold. "No, Warner," I retort, my voice cracking with urgency. "I won't let you shoot anyone. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

His eyes narrow in frustration, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He leans forward slightly, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts. "You don't get it, do you?" He pulls his hand back just enough for the barrel to slip out of my grasp, his face inches from mine. "You think you're protecting them, but you're not. You're putting yourself in danger. You're putting all of you in danger."

His words are venomous, but there's a flicker of something else behind them, something I can't quite place. I refuse to let him intimidate me.

"You don't get it, Warner," I spit, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart races. "You're not protecting anyone, either. You're threatening people who only want to help. You're killing something inside of them with every order you give."

He recoils, as if my words physically strike him, but he quickly regains his composure, his eyes flashing with renewed intensity. "You think this is about them? About what you want?" His voice is venom now, dripping with anger. "This is about control. About making sure you understand the consequences of defying me. I don't care if it's you, Wrenlee, or anyone else. You will respect the chain of command!"

I take a deep breath, my hand still stubbornly clutching the gun, refusing to let go. "Then make me respect it, Warner. Because I don't. And I won't."

His hand moves quickly, trying to shove mine off the barrel. I hold on tighter, determined. "You're not getting this gun, Warner. I won't let you hurt anyone with it."

His jaw clenches, the veins in his neck bulging with restrained fury. His breath comes in short bursts now, and I can see the effort it takes for him to keep his voice controlled. "You're not listening to me, Wrenlee. This is a weapon. It's not a toy. You're not trained to use it, and you're not strong enough to hold onto it without getting yourself killed."

"I don't need to be trained to stop you from hurting someone, Warner. I just need to be strong enough to keep you from pulling the trigger." I take a step closer, my voice growing more desperate, more pleading. "Please. Just put it down. You don't have to—"

"You are so clueless and naive," he growls, his voice colder than ever. He pulls the gun upward, but I stay with it, refusing to let him break my grip. "You want to be a hero, Wrenlee? Fine. But heroes don't win wars. They die in them. There is no happy ever after for them."

His words strike me harder than I expect, and for a moment, my grip weakens. He senses the shift, and in that instant, his hand snaps to mine, gripping my wrist with enough force to make my bones ache.

"Let go," he orders, his voice hoarse with restraint. "Before you do something you'll regret."

My heart skips in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. He's right. I'm not trained for this. I don't know what to do with this gun. But I can't let go. Not when there's a chance he might hurt someone.