The metal safety walls groan under the relentless assault. Each blow sends a tremor through the room, rattling the air in my lungs. I stand behind the front desk, trying to steady my breath, but my heart races, its rhythm matching the pounding outside. Hood is tense, his eyes locked on the door like he can will it to hold. Brock paces nearby, his gun already in hand, while Siobhan, the young deputy with auburn hair, grips her weapon with white-knuckled hands.

A part of me can't shake the dread that tonight might end badly. Every noise seems magnified in the oppressive quiet. The building shakes with distant impacts, making me flinch with every jolt.

Then, the unmistakable clang of the door to the armoury echoes through the hall. I know it's Kurt—one of the few people who could command such a presence. He's back, and from the grim expression on his face as he emerges with a collection of weapons, it's clear that things are about to get worse before they get better. The sight of him, so resolute and focused, sends a shiver down my spine.

He lays them out on the counter with the same precision he had when he was a boy, following orders without question. No hesitation. No emotion. Just a cold, mechanical efficiency.

He doesn't look at me, but I feel him, the way I always have. It's like a dark shadow that never leaves, no matter how far I run. Seeing him again after all these years… it's like every scar on my back is split open all over again.

No one else has any idea the storm that's raging inside of me. They don't know our history – how could they? I've taken my mother's last name n an effort to distance myself from that whole world and all the pain it caused me.

"I hope you don't mind," Kurt says to Hood, his voice carrying a mix of authority and an almost forced attempt at reassurance. "I took the initiative."

"You're sure about this?" Brock's voice cuts through the tension, addressing Hood. His eyes flicker to the weapons, but I can see the doubt in them.

Hood nods, his face grim. "We need every hand on deck. If Chayton gets through those doors, it's over." He turns to Kurt, holding out a deputy's badge. "I'm deputizing you, Kurt. We need you to help hold this place."

My breath catches in my throat. I want to say something, scream, cry out - but I'm frozen. What would it matter if I did? Would they care that the man they're trusting with their lives is the same man who beat his sister bloody because their father ordered it? That he's the one who shattered everything I was, everything I could have been? But the words choke me, trapped under a decade of silence.

Kurt takes the badge, clips it onto his chest with a calmness that makes my skin crawl. He doesn't hesitate as he starts handing out the weapons, his movements efficient, controlled. He hands a shotgun to Brock, who accepts it without a word, then offers a rifle to Siobhan. She takes it, her fingers trembling just enough for me to notice.

And then he turns to me.

I freeze as his eyes meet mine. It's only for a moment, but it feels like forever, like I'm trapped in that gaze, caught between past and present. He holds out a handgun, the metal glinting under the dim lights.

"You should take something," he says quietly, nodding to the gun in his offered hand.

My hands tremble as I stare at the gun, my vision narrowing until it's all I can see. The cold metal, the weight of it…I could take it. I could end this, right now. One bullet, and it would be over. The man who made my life a living hell, who tore apart everything I loved - he's standing right in front of me, and all it would take is one squeeze of the trigger.

But I don't trust myself. Not with a weapon. Not with this kind of power. I feel the anger boiling beneath the surface, a rage that's been simmering for years. He poses no threat to me now - he's a deputy, just like the rest of them. But I can't believe he's changed. How could he? How could a man like that ever change?

Kurt's eyes stay on me, that same unreadable look he's always had, like he's daring me to make a move. Like he knows I won't.

I imagine taking it, raising it, pointing it at him, watching his face as he realizes what's coming. But I don't. I can't. His eyes linger on me for a moment longer, and I wonder if he knows. If he can see the thoughts running through my mind, the way I'm barely holding it together. But then he turns away, as if I'm nothing, as if this is just another day.

"We're going to make our stand here," Hood says, his voice cutting through the haze in my mind. "No one leaves until this is over."

Outside, Chayton's war cries grow louder, the pounding on the walls intensifying. I can almost see his face through the thin barrier—a force of nature, unstoppable, unrelenting. The walls won't hold much longer.

"We're ready," Kurt says, his voice steady, confident. He stands beside Hood, his posture rigid, the perfect soldier. But there's something in his eyes now - something dark, something I don't recognize.

I close my hands in fists, and shrink farther and farther back towards the cells. I can't afford to break now, not in front of them. Not with everything crashing down around us.

Hood steps closer to the door, his eyes narrowing. "Get ready. It's going to get ugly."

I swallow hard, forcing down the bile that rises in my throat. Whatever happens next, there's no turning back. Not for me. Not for any of us.