Athena's breath was shallow as she pressed against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest.
The air was thick with tension, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in her ears. Xavier crouched beside her, his sharp eyes scanning the rooftops with the precision of a predator.
His grip on her wrist was firm but not painful, his fingers warm against her skin. Whoever was out there had just fired two shots, and both had been dangerously precise.
This wasn't a panicked survivor taking random shots, it was a trained marksman. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Xavier's smirk hadn't faded, though his expression had hardened into something cold and calculating.
"They're good," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "But not good enough."
Athena exhaled sharply. "Do you always treat assassination attempts this casually?"
He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Only when they're predictable."
