Harry stood at the base of the building, neck craned upward as everything started to come apart.
It didn't happen all at once.
It built.
Voices first.
Then shouting.
Then the unmistakable sound of something breaking upstairs—wood, glass, something—followed by a scream that didn't belong to anybody calm.
Bill's men didn't wait.
One after the other, boots slamming against the concrete steps as they rushed inside, weapons drawn, adrenaline already high before they even reached the second floor.
Harry tracked them with his eyes.
Counted.
One. Two. Three. More behind them.
Too many.
His jaw tightened.
Then—
Click.
The sound cut clean through everything.
He'd already drawn the gun.
Didn't even remember doing it.
Bill turned his head slightly at the noise, eyes flicking to Harry's hand, then back toward the building like it didn't concern him much.
"Don't even bother wasting your bullets," Bill said casually, bringing a cigarette to his lips.
Harry didn't lower the gun.
