Damon didn't think. He just moved.
The moment he saw her—saw the terror on her face, saw the way she was curled up behind the trash bin like a scared child—he was out of the car. The pain in his side still burned like hell, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered in that second except getting Jayla out of danger.
"Jayla!" he shouted again.
Her eyes snapped up at the sound of his voice, wide and red-rimmed. She didn't even speak. She just stared, frozen.
Damon dashed across the narrow gap between them. He could already hear the thudding boots, the sharp clicks of weapons being cocked. More were coming. Fast.
He grabbed her by the wrist. "Come on—we gotta go!"
Still in shock, she didn't resist. Damon pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her protectively, shielding her body with his own as bullets began to scream past them. Metal pinged against the car. Glass cracked louder. But Damon didn't stop until he had her inside the car, slamming the door shut behind them.
Jayla was crouched low in the seat, hands over her head, her chest heaving like she couldn't catch a full breath. Her face was pale, her whole body trembling.
"What the hell are you doing here, kid?!" Valerie snapped from the driver's seat, her voice sharp, eyes darting between the road ahead and the men behind them.
Jayla couldn't answer. She just pressed herself deeper into the seat, sobs breaking past her lips.
Before anyone could say another word, the sound of gunshots erupted again.
The sharp clatter of bullets tore into their car like hailstones. One ripped through the rear window, another shattered the passenger-side mirror. Damon instinctively ducked, shielding Jayla, then fumbled to grab the rifle inside the bag.
"Down!" Valerie shouted.
Jayla was already curled into a ball, her hands covering her ears again, while Damon scrambled up and yanked the gun into his lap. He'd never fired one before—not in real life. Maybe in video games. But this was different. His hands were slick with sweat, his heart thudding so hard it echoed in his ears louder than the gunfire.
He raised the rifle, aimed toward the window, and fired.
The recoil jerked his arms up with every shot. His aim was shaky. Wild. Bullets sprayed everywhere but nowhere precise. But it didn't matter. It did what it was supposed to do—create a window.
Valerie slammed her foot down on the gas.
The car jolted forward with a roar, tires squealing against the concrete, rubber burning. Damon nearly lost hold of the rifle, but gripped it tighter as the car swerved past the attackers.
Gunfire followed them. More cracks of shattered glass, more whistling shots. One even grazed the top of the car. But they were moving. Fast.
Damon collapsed back into the seat, chest heaving, eyes wide. He looked over at Jayla. She was shaking. Her lips moved like she was trying to say something, but no words came.
Damon reached out, touched her shoulder.
"I got you," he said, breathless. "You're safe now."
Mrs. Valerie's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as the car sped through the street. The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of broken glass beneath the tires. Her eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror, watching the two teenagers in the backseat.
Damon sat with one hand pressed against the side of his ribs, where the bullets had torn through just minutes earlier. He was healing — fast — but the trauma hadn't faded. He kept glancing over at Jayla, who sat hunched over, trembling, arms tightly wrapped around herself. Her eyes were wide, glassy, filled with the horror of everything she had just witnessed. The bodies. The gunfire. The explosion. The truth.
Valerie saw it all in her expression — the way she couldn't quite bring herself to meet anyone's eyes. Damon, even in his dazed state, gently reached out and rested his hand on Jayla's shoulder.
"It's okay…" he whispered. "You're okay now."
But his voice betrayed the truth — he wasn't sure of anything anymore.
Valerie finally spoke. "What about your parents?" Her voice was calm, even, but it carried weight. Authority. Control. It was the voice of someone who had asked life-or-death questions far too many times.
Jayla looked up slowly, her voice a soft tremble. "I… I don't have parents. They died when I was a kid. I live with my aunt now."
There was something in the way she said it — not just grief, but something colder. Bitterness. Resentment. Mrs. Valerie didn't need more than that. She had lived too long, seen too much, not to recognize the quiet anger of someone who had been surviving, not living.
"I see," she said, her tone thoughtful.
She looked at Damon through the mirror, then back at Jayla. "You're in danger now, Jayla," she said firmly. "They've seen your face. You were at the house. They'll be looking for you… to tie off any loose ends."
Jayla blinked, confused. "Wait… what? But I didn't do anything!"
"They don't care," Valerie replied. "You were there. That's enough."
Jayla looked at Damon, then back at Valerie. "So what… are you saying they're going to kill me? Just like that?"
Valerie didn't answer right away. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a slim phone, her fingers moving quickly as she dialed a number from memory. The call connected after a single ring.
"We're en route. ETA fifteen minutes." A woman's voice responded on the other end — calm, assured. "I'll prepare the rooms."
Valerie hung up.
She didn't look back at them this time. "We're going to someone I trust," she said. "Someone who can keep us hidden for a while. You'll be safe there. Both of you."