Northern_Lights_2017

43 know who they were, though, because I’d never, ever, ever dug through the SSB’s files when there was nothing to do and Mom had left her desktop open. Honest. I reached behind me and made the universal gesture for “gimme.” A moment later, Mr. Reeds plopped the rangefinder into my hand. The wind wasn’t bad, judging by the breeze rustling my ponytail, and I had set the scope to be accurate at roughly one thousand yards. But it was always good to double-check. I didn’t want to break rule number one, even accidentally: Don’t kill people who aren’t involved with magic. “We’re thirty city blocks away,” Mr. Reeds said. “At that distance—” “The bullet outruns its own sonic boom. Even if he’s got some sort of super-sensory ward, he won’t get any warning till it’s too late.” Mr. Reeds looked kind of green, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek again. Maybe I was overdoing it a bit, messing with him . . . . I resisted the urge to shrug and double-checked. We were at a little over nine hundred sixteen meters according to the rangefinder—one thousand two yards. Just over thirty city blocks. Handing back the rangefinder, I settled down in front of the rifle again, and placed my finger on the trigger. Everything was set up, double-checked, triple-checked, and ready. All I had to do was pull the trigger, and I’d be on my way back to the precinct to have a talk with their psychology expert. Naturally, I quadruple-checked. The silhouette wasn’t moving from its spot in the middle of the room, arms raised. He was probably doing some sort of magic ritual or something. The rich kid and his father were still arguing heatedly, slightly off-center of the window. The bullet would probably pass about four feet behind the kid. A man— A man with a gun was casually walking up behind the kid. I couldn’t be certain, but statistically speaking he was probably human. I licked my lips. I lay there for an eternal second, watching the man with the gun close in on the father and son. The possibilities played out in my head, instantly and horribly. If I told Mr. Reeds, and he alerted the rest of the team, they’d rush in and everything would probably go FUBAR. If I didn’t, I’d be sitting there while letting some guy hold a gun to a kid’s head. Letting it happen. Terribly, for a split second, I knew what I could do. The obvious solution was crystal clear in my head, like staring at a math worksheet while everyone else struggled with the problems. I knew the answer. I almost threw up, watching the man with the gun as he drew closer to the well-dressed pair. My hands were trembling. I had to force them to stop or lose all the careful setup I’d done earlier. It just made me want to throw up more. When he was about four feet behind the young man, standing right in front of the silhouette of my target in the hotel room, I made my decision. I took the shot. I saved a life. I broke rule number one.