The next time she saw him, he was wearing jeans and a baggy hoodie. He looks like a punk, she thought to herself. Was that a good thing?

He ignored her existence. To be expected. What wasn’t to be expected, though, was when this man, this guy she knew only by face and his beautiful eyes when he came to the coffee shop late every night, pulled out a pistol and calmly commanded everyone to get on the floor. Except her, he said. Specifically. People sobbed as they covered their heads in their hands.

“You’re coming with me,” he said.