Third Point Of ViewSophia’s pulse hammered so loud she could hear it in her ears. The gun at her back felt heavier than steel, pressing between her shoulder blades with deliberate malice.Malachi’s stance shifted almost imperceptibly, but she recognized the tell—his weight leaning slightly to his right leg, the subtle angle of his shoulders. He was calculating distance, timing, kill shots.“Drop it,” the masked man said casually, motioning to Malachi’s sidearm. “Slowly.”Malachi didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the man’s visor, like he was trying to see through the reflective surface. “You’ve got the numbers,” he said. “You don’t need the theatrics.”The masked man’s voice carried that same unnerving calm. “Oh, I do. Because I know you—every twitch, every fake feint, every habit you haven’t broken since Black Dagger. And if I let you hold a gun a second longer than I need to…” He tilted his head. “…you’ll kill me before I finish this sentence.”Sophia saw Malachi’s jaw tighten,