My lack of empathy disturbs me on some level, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. Whether Julian intended to create a distraction or not, the end result is that nobody is paying attention to me at the moment—and as soon as I realize it, I spring into action.

Jumping to my feet, I cast a frantic glance around the room. My gaze lands on a small knife on a table near the wall, and I leap toward it, my pulse racing. The terrorists are all gathered around Julian on the other side of the room, and I hear grunts, curses, and the sickening sound of fists hitting flesh.

They’re punishing Julian for this murder—and, for now, ignoring me.

Turning my back to the table, I manage to palm the knife and wedge the blade underneath the duct tape they wrapped around my wrists. My hands are trembling, causing the sharp blade to nick my skin, but I ignore the pain, trying to saw through the thick tape before they realize what’s happening. My grip is slippery with sweat and blood, but I persist, and finally, my hands are free.

Shaking, I survey the room again, and spot an assault rifle leaning negligently against the wall. One of the terrorists must’ve left it there in the confusion resulting from Julian’s unexpected attack.

My heart throbbing in my throat, I inch along the wall toward the weapon, desperately hoping that the terrorists won’t glance in my direction. I have no idea what I’m going to do with one gun against a roomful of men armed to their teeth, but I have to do something.

I can’t stand by and watch them beat Julian to death.

My hands close around the weapon before anyone notices anything, and I suck in a shaking breath of relief. It’s an AK-47, one of the assault rifles I practiced with during my training with Julian. Gripping the heavy weapon, I lift it and point in the direction of the terrorists, trying to control the adrenaline-induced trembling in my arms. I’ve never shot at a person before—only at beer cans and paper targets—and I don’t know if I have what it takes to pull the trigger.

And as I’m trying to work up the courage to act, a blinding explosion rocks the room, knocking me off my feet and onto the floor.

I don’t know if I hit my head or was merely dazed by the explosion, but the next thing I’m aware of is the sound of gunfire outside the walls. The entire room is filled with smoke, and I cough as I instinctively attempt to get to my feet.

“Nora! Stay down!” It’s Julian, his voice hoarse from the smoke. “Stay down, baby, do you hear me?”

“Yes!” I yell back, intense joy filling every cell of my body as I realize that he’s alive—and in a good enough condition to speak. Keeping low to the ground, I peer out from behind the table that fell next to me, and see Julian lying on his side on the other end of the room, still tied to the metal chair.