Rebecca’s scream tore through the air.
Benjamin staggered—
Then fell.
The world tilted.
Sound warped.
Distant.
Wrong.
Blood spread across white fabric.
Bright.
Impossible.
Brooks stood frozen.
Gun still in hand.
Eyes wide.
Because he hadn’t meant—
Or maybe he had.
It didn’t matter now.
Nothing did.
Rebecca dropped to her knees.
Her hands pressed against Benjamin’s chest.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, voice breaking into pieces. “Stay with me, Ben—please—”
But his eyes—
They found hers.
Still calm.
Still steady.
Even now.
“You’re okay,” he murmured.
It didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense.
“You’re okay,” he repeated.
And then—
He smiled.
Just slightly.
Like he knew something she didn’t.
Something none of them did.
Sirens returned.
Louder.
Closer.
Too late.
—
Later, they would replay the footage.
Frame by frame.
Sound by sound.
They would analyze Brooks.
Condemn him.
Charge him.
Destroy him.
And they would mourn Benjamin Oliver.
Attorney General.
Symbol.
Man.
But there was something else.
Something buried in the chaos.
Something almost missed.
Because in the seconds before the shot—
Before Brooks lunged—
Before everything broke—
Benjamin had done something small.
Almost invisible.
