The moment I lunged, time fractured into sharp, vivid pieces. The firelight cast Logan's shadow long across the cabin floor as I surged forward. My hands, freed by Rope Handling Mastery, shot towards his wrist—the one clutching the gun.
His eyes widened with surprise. He raised the weapon just as my left hand clamped onto his wrist. My right hand slammed into his forearm. The gun jerked upward.
Bang!
The shot shattered the tension. The recoil sent the muzzle skyward, the bullet punching a hole through the wooden ceiling. Splinters rained down like burning embers. My heart pounded in my ears as I twisted his arm, forcing the barrel away from me.
Logan roared and threw his weight into me, driving a knee into my ribs. Pain flared through my torso. The ropes had cut into my skin for hours, leaving my muscles stiff and raw. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, but my grip held.
