After the gunfire, the room goes silent. Zoe and I both stand frozen in place, watching the smoke rise from the muzzle of the gun.

Chase still grips it, his eyes straining to one side to try to look at it. “I think I’ve made my point,” Crowin says. He pulls open the desk drawer from which the gun had originally been taken. “Place the gun back, please.”

Chase does, and Crowin closes the drawer. As he does, he whimpers out the word ...