Hesitation.
Jeryn knows from personal experience that when you hesitate, people die.
She saw it on Akuze. She remembers too well. Not that she could have stopped what happened single-handedly, but the part of her mind that tracks every failure won't let her really believe it.
Her hand is curled around the weapon, finger hugging the trigger, but her hands are shaking. She has a clear shot and she chokes. She's never choked.
Snipers know. They can lie in wait, for days if they have to, for that perfect, clear shot. They know the difference between one that might hit true and one that without a doubt will.
This is the latter.
Any other time the squeeze would have been instant. Any other time, she wouldn't even have to think. It would be automatic. Muscle memory earned from years of training. Perfect practice makes perfect, and this shot is perfect.
But her throat closes and her hands tremble. All she can see is his life being snuffed out in front of her.
She hesitates, and the perfect shot is gone.
The rest is like slow motion as her chest seizes. She can feel every impact.
When the monstrosity of a thing is charging at her, she doesn't hesitate again. The shot hits its mark and she takes the bot down in a single blow.
It's too late, though.
She hesitated.
She knows what happens when you hesitate.