“No,” said Vee, her voice clear and level. Her stance became confident. Her gun was steady now, level with the man’s heart. Other hands reached for Vee, ready to pull her clear. But she tightened her grip on the gun. “Back off,” she said, and they did.

“Vee,” I said, “you aren’t going to do this.”

“Look what he’s done to us,” she said.

“Viktoria,” said Bror, trying to force calm into his words. “Viktoria, this can be undone.”

“No, it can’t,” she said simply.

“I hereby cancel the order.”

Vee looked him in the eye. “You can’t.”

Still I waited for the rifle shot, but no one here was willing to shoot a child.

The past year had changed my daughter. There was a hardness to her that was not there before.

“Vee,” I said, “this is not who we are.”

“It is now.” She stiffened her stance.

“Please, Viktoria,” said Bror, and I heard his rising panic. “Listen to your father.”

Imagine a girl

Imagine a girl.

Imagine a girl pushed to the breaking point, in a world where kindness and forgiveness no longer make sense. This girl stands in front of a man, now, who has promised her a better life. He has approached her many times, and each time she has resisted a little less.

Her father was seduced easily into this man’s world, with coffee and with clever talk. But it began long ago with her sister Licia.

Now Licia is gone.

Now they know who this man is.

This man has ordered her death, and the death of her parents, and the death of her tiny baby brother. That is the reality of Bror. And she sees in Bror’s eyes his fear, and she understands now that he is mortal, and that he has no greater truth to offer. He has nothing beyond breathing exercises and a belief in praxis, whatever praxis really means.

In her hands the Glock feels balanced and cool and she wishes the moment did not have to end, wishes Bror could feel this fear for all eternity, though she knows that he will not, because the moment must end. She must put down the gun, or she must fire it. If she puts down the gun this man will go to jail, and from his cell he will continue to amplify his signal and glorify the attacks. And if she fires it, what then? She will not be jailed, but it will break her family apart.

She breathes deeply. She is her mother’s daughter. She believes very strongly in revenge. And on Garden Island all is still, and every face is watching this girl now.

Killer or victim, she thinks. Which is it to be?

Above the clearing, mayflies danced in the heavy summer air.

“Vee,” I said. “Time to go home now.”