The silence was obliterated. In the minutes that followed, Raven told himself all manner of stories about engines backfiring and fireworks being set off in the dead of winter. Anything but a gunshot in his mother’s pharmacy. Anything but a wound in his mother’s chest.

Nothing was supposed to lodge itself there. Nothing except her fierce, beautiful heart. This was the woman who’d taught him to ride a bike, and nestled roses in his hair. This was the woman who’d chased him around the kitchen with a wooden spoon, pretending it was a wand. As he sped through the parking lot, he could see her through the glass door of the pharmacy. She was wearing a long white jacket, but something was staining it.

Raven skidded to a stop at the door. But the latch had a habit of sticking and his stupid, bulky gloves couldn’t yank it open. The door was stuck. Raven was stuck, staring at his dark-haired, bright-eyed mother on the other side of the glass as she crumpled to her knees.

No. He would not watch her die. He had a phone in his pocket, and after he pulled it out, he would dial 911. Medics would arrive on the scene. They would save her, and everything would be fine.

Raven’s hand slid into the pocket of his jeans. Miraculously, the phone came out easily, and he realized his glove had fallen into the snow. Good riddance to it. He would never wear those stupid gloves again, because they had kept him from getting to her, and she needed him. An operator came on the line. Raven mumbled something about an emergency and managed to give the pharmacy’s address. After that, the phone fell into the snow. First the glove, then the phone.

Nothing else would fall. Raven swore it to the heavens, and he swore it to his mom, and then he jerked open the door. A body pushed past him. He hadn’t even seen the tall, lanky man in the ski mask, because he must’ve been hiding between the rows of medication. He must’ve realized he was trapped, the minute Raven arrived outside the door, and he must’ve been skulking through the pharmacy like a half-starved dog.

“I’m sorry,” the man choked out, tossing a glance in Raven’s direction. His voice was low and scratchy, as if someone had wrapped their fingers around his throat. Or maybe he’d been crying. Raven didn’t know. None of this made sense, because none of this was possible.

His mother was crawling toward the pharmacy door. She must’ve been trying to get to her son, and Raven reached for her, the sound of footsteps retreating at his back. “The ambulance is coming,” he promised, gathering her into his arms. “Just give it a couple of minutes, okay, Mom? Stay with me.”