Page 2 of Grim

Switchblade stepped behind him, adjusting his stance with steady hands. “Relax your shoulders. You’re muscling the shot.”

Brick nodded, jaw tight. “Got it.”

He fired again.

Better.

Rook leaned in. “He’s trying.”

“Trying isn’t enough,” Grim said. “He’ll get there.”

Brick fired again. Closer to center.

“Good,” Grim said. “Don’t rush.”

Switchblade huffed a quiet laugh. “He only has one speed.”

Brick’s mouth twitched — not a smile, just acknowledgment.

Grim stepped forward again. “Brick.”

Brick snapped to attention. “Yeah?”

“You rush like that in the field, you die.”

Brick swallowed. “Understood.”

“Slow down.”

Brick nodded once, serious. “Okay.”

Rook clapped his hands. “Reset. Last round.”

The sun dipped lower, bleeding red across the treeline. The air cooled. Shadows stretched long across the gravel.

“Fire.”

Four shots cracked through the dusk.

Brick’s was shaky. Vandal’s was better. Ghost’s was clean. Switchblade’s was perfect again, dead center, like he’d been born with a weapon in his hand.

“Good,” Grim said. “Clean up.”

Switchblade stepped beside Grim, wiping down his weapon. “He listens.”

Grim glanced at him. “Most of the time.”

“He looks up to you.”

Grim snorted. “He looks up to anyone taller than him.”

Switchblade’s mouth twitched. “Still true.”

Grim watched the prospects finish collecting spent casings, the last of the sunlight bleeding out behind the trees.

Rook clapped Grim on the shoulder. “You heading back?”

“Yeah.”