A nagging feeling remained in Sam's stomach even as he surged forward, following Natalya's lead and never hesitating. He felt disconnected from the bodies falling, as though the pull of his finger on the trigger, the sound of the gun firing were unrelated to a man falling to the ground. It wasn't until they were outside, on the roof, the air fucking cold but empty of gunfire, and they could finally relax just the slightest bit that he realized.

It had been a year since he had killed. Anything. And now he had blood on his hands from cracking some guy's skull against a brick wall.

He would have taken off his gloves, but that seemed like a bad idea given their setting. Instead Sam set his jaw and tried to ignore it, crouching down by Natalya. "Is this how it happened?" he asked, trying to figure out where they all stood in the island's little game. "I mean, now what?"