Through the Crosshairs

Fernando’s POV

Michael had always been the calm one. The anchor. The man with iron veins and a voice like a soothing balm.

But in this moment, crouched on the floor of the living room with Henry wrapped tightly in his arms, I saw something else flicker behind his eyes.

It was fear.

Not for himself. But for the boy trembling against his chest.

Henry’s small hands clutched Michael’s shirt with a desperation that cut through me sharper than the sniper’s bullet had cut through the quiet.

Henry was silent now, but I could still hear the echo of his scream ringing in my ears. My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged beast.

I remained crouched low, my back pressed against the cold wall, my body hidden just beside the window.

I hadn’t dared to move since that last shot was fired.

“Shh,” Michael murmured to Henry, his voice low and warm. “It’s okay, champ. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Henry hiccupped.

“But—there was a gun… someone sho