Chapter 4 - The Scent of Old Smoke
Ron froze mid-stride, his body locking up as the tiny red dot rested between his eyes. He shielded Leo instinctively with one broad arm, holding his breath. From the shadows behind the industrial trash compactor stepped a woman wrapped in a faded green military jacket, smelling strongly of stale tobacco and ozone. She held a suppressed handgun with steady, callous efficiency.
""Put the boy down, rent-a-cop, and you get to go home to your wife,"" she said in a dry, raspy drawl. Her eyes were completely dead, devoid of empathy or malice.
""He's just a child!"" Ron protested, backing against the concrete wall, clutching the toddler tighter. ""Whatever his grandfather did, this kid has nothing to do with it!""
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""That kid is the prototype,"" the woman replied, her finger tightening on the trigger. ""And you are an inconvenient piece of paperwork.""
Before she could pull the trigger, Leo threw the heavy iron ring with impossible precision. It struck the woman's gun barrel, deflecting the shot into the concrete ceiling with a dull thud. Ron dove forward, tackling her into a pile of cardboard boxes. They wrestled wildly, but the woman was vastly stronger than her lean frame suggested. She threw Ron off effortlessly, drawing a serrated combat knife. She lunged straight for Ron’s throat, only to freeze when a small, cold hand tapped her ankle from behind.
