Adrian's low sigh cut through the cheering crowd.

Juliette turned her head. Adrian was looking down at the floor, his brow heavily furrowed in a mask of pure distress.

He leaned down, his shoulder brushing against hers.

"I despise people who bathe in perfume," Adrian whispered, his voice laced with genuine misery.

Juliette blinked. She inhaled instinctively. The cloying, heavy scent of Blair's custom rose perfume burned the back of her throat.

Adrian shifted closer. The heat radiating from his chest seeped through her thin shirt.

"If I have to spend three weekends with her," Adrian murmured, his voice suddenly sounding incredibly fragile, "my sinuses will swell shut. I won't be able to spell a single gene sequence for you."

That sentence hit Juliette's brain like a lightning bolt.

Her experimental data was in danger. Her eyes sharpened instantly, the fear evaporating into pure, protective rage over her research.

Adrian watched the fire ignite in her eyes. He pushed a little harder. "Besides, her stance looked sloppy to me. Pure luck."

Adrian's words cut through the thick fog of her panic. He was right. The sheer incompetence on display was an insult to the sport she once loved. She forced the violent tremors in her hands to still, taking a slow, grounding breath. She channeled the suffocating fear into a cold, analytical rage. Juliette scoffed loudly, her professional arrogance completely taking over. "Her breathing rhythm is entirely wrong. And her wrist micro-twitches right before the break."

A dark gleam flashed in Adrian's eyes. "If you see the flaws, go up there and break her ego."

Juliette's fire dimmed slightly as she looked back at the gun. She rubbed her temples. "I haven't touched a grip in years."

Blair stood ten feet away, hands on her hips. "Are you begging him to save you? Just forfeit and get out!"

Sierra laughed loudly. "If you get on your knees and apologize, maybe we'll just take the guy and let you go."

Juliette's stubborn pride flared violently. Her hands balled into tight fists. She glared at Blair.

"Are you really going to let her take your fertilizer?" Adrian whispered softly, the ultimate bait.

That did it.

Juliette marched toward the shooting stall.

She stood in front of the table. She stared down at the black metal. She took a deep breath and reached out. Her fingers were trembling so badly she could barely keep them straight.

Just as her skin was about to touch the metal, a large, warm hand covered hers completely.

Juliette gasped and spun her head around.

Adrian was standing directly behind her. There was zero space between them. His chest was pressed firmly against her back.

"Since you're a beginner," Adrian's deep voice vibrated against her neck, "let the 'theory master' show you the ropes."

The crowd gasped. Blair's face turned purple. "You can't help her! That's cheating!"

Adrian didn't even look at Blair. His eyes were fixed on Juliette's trembling hand. "I'm only adjusting her grip. I won't touch the trigger. Standard beginner rules."

The range officer, intimidated by Adrian's cold aura, nodded nervously. "Grip correction is allowed."

Blair ground her teeth. "Fine! Hold her hand all you want. A loser is still a loser."

Adrian ignored the noise. He wrapped both of his arms around Juliette's waist, caging her against the table.

Juliette's brain short-circuited.

The panic of the gun vanished, entirely replaced by the overwhelming scent of cedar and the solid wall of muscle pressed against her spine. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

Adrian lowered his head. His jaw rested lightly against her shoulder.

"Breathe," he commanded softly.

His long fingers slowly pried her stiff, trembling fingers open. He guided her hand down, wrapping it around the textured grip of the pistol.

His thumb intentionally brushed across the sensitive skin of her palm. A jolt of electricity shot straight up Juliette's arm.

To the crowd, it looked like a romantic, clumsy lesson.

To Juliette, it was sensory overload.

"Your shoulder is too tight," Adrian murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Juliette sucked in a sharp breath. She forced her eyes away from his hands and stared straight down the lane at the paper target.

The noise of the crowd faded. The smell of perfume vanished.

The cold metal in her hand suddenly felt like an extension of her own arm. The fear drained out of her, replaced by a terrifying, icy calm.

Before Juliette could fully settle into the stance, a chaotic blur shoved through the crowd.

Phoebe Chandler, Juliette's roommate, slammed a half-empty iced coffee onto the counter. She was breathing hard, her eyes blazing.

Phoebe stepped directly in front of Juliette, shielding her. She pointed a finger right at Blair's face.

"Picking on an ag-major with your fancy toys?" Phoebe yelled. "You're pathetic!"

Blair rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Oh look, the dirt-girl needs her mommy. If you're so brave, why don't you shoot for her?"

Phoebe, who had grown up on a Texas ranch and spent 80 hours a week playing first-person shooters, puffed out her chest.

She snatched a spare air pistol off the rack. "Gladly."

Juliette's eyes widened in panic. She grabbed Phoebe's sleeve. "Phoebe, wait. That's a competition pistol. The trigger pull is completely different from a video game."

Phoebe waved her off confidently. "Relax, Jules. I'm a sniper in Call of Duty. Ten meters is a joke."

Gregory burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. "You think a video game makes you a shooter? This is gonna be hilarious."

Phoebe glared at Gregory. "Shut up, frat boy."

She stepped up to the line. She threw her body into a ridiculous, exaggerated Hollywood action pose. She squeezed one eye shut, took entirely too long to aim, and yanked the trigger hard.

Because she jerked her finger, the muzzle flipped violently upward.

Bang.

The pellet completely missed the paper target, sailed high, and slammed into the metal protective casing above the electronic screen with a loud, ringing CLANG.

The entire bay erupted into hysterical laughter.

Blair laughed so hard she had to lean on Sierra. "That is the most pathetic thing I have ever seen!"

Phoebe's face turned bright red. She slowly lowered the gun, her bravado completely shattered. She shuffled back to Juliette, staring at her shoes. "The sights are definitely bent," she mumbled.

Blair wiped a tear from her eye. "Alright, playtime is over. Get up there and take your zero, dirt-girl."

Juliette looked at her humiliated best friend.

The last shred of her fear evaporated, incinerated by pure, protective fury.

She gently pushed Phoebe aside. She took three long strides and planted her feet at the shooting line.

Her eyes were dead cold, but her hands still carried a slight, involuntary tremor from the adrenaline spike.

Adrian saw the tremor. He didn't hesitate.

He stepped up behind her again, his massive frame completely enveloping hers. He effectively blocked out the laughing crowd, creating a private, silent bubble for just the two of them.

He reached around her. His large, warm hands covered her cold, shaking ones.

The heat of his palms immediately stopped her trembling.

"Don't be afraid," Adrian whispered, his voice a low, steady anchor in the chaos. "I'm right here."

Juliette's heart skipped a beat. The rigid tension in her spine melted as she leaned back slightly into his solid chest.

Adrian's long fingers slowly adjusted her grip. He moved with deliberate slowness, his callouses dragging against her skin, creating a stark contrast against the cold metal of the gun.

Blair sneered from behind them. "Hugging the gun won't make it shoot straight!"

Adrian ignored her completely. He tilted his head, his nose brushing against Juliette's hair.

"Drop your right shoulder," he instructed softly.

Juliette took a slow, deep breath. She closed her eyes. She let the darkness swallow the noise, the insults, and the pressure.

When her eyes snapped open, the innocent, confused agriculture student was gone.

Her gaze was razor-sharp, filled with the terrifying, absolute focus of an apex predator.

Adrian felt the instantaneous shift in her aura. A thrill of dark excitement shot through his veins.

He slowly loosened his grip on her hands. He took a deliberate half-step back, leaving her standing alone at the line.

The stage was hers.

Juliette raised her right arm, locking her elbow into a perfect, unshakeable line. She stared down the barrel at the center of the target.

Juliette stood perfectly still.

Her body was angled sideways, her spine straight as a steel rod. She looked like a marble statue carved specifically for destruction.

The mocking laughter in the bay died down. People shifted uncomfortably, sensing the sudden, heavy shift in the atmosphere.

Blair felt a cold prickle of unease on the back of her neck. She crossed her arms tighter. "Posing doesn't get you points," she muttered, though her voice lacked its earlier confidence.

Juliette didn't hear her.

Her breathing slowed down until it was barely visible. Her eyes locked onto the microscopic center of the target ten meters away.

Her index finger rested lightly against the trigger. The cold metal felt like an old friend. Years of muscle memory, buried deep beneath soil and trauma, violently woke up.

Bang.

The sharp crack of the pistol echoed off the concrete walls.

Every head in the room snapped up to look at the electronic display screen hanging above the lane.

The digital numbers scrambled wildly for a second before locking into place.

A bright, glaring red number illuminated the bay.

10.9. Dead center. The maximum possible score, a shot of near-divine perfection.

The silence in the room was absolute. It was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning vents.

Gregory's jaw went slack. The energy drink slipped from his fingers and crashed onto the floor, spilling sticky liquid everywhere. He didn't even blink.

Phoebe grabbed the stranger standing next to her and shook his arm. "Did you see that? Tell me you saw that!"

Adrian stood a few feet behind Juliette. He stared at the glowing 10.9. A slow, incredibly proud smile spread across his face. He knew it.

Juliette slowly lowered the gun. She let out a long, controlled exhale. The tight knot in her chest finally unraveled. Her eyes returned to their normal, calm state.

The color completely drained from Blair's face. She lunged toward the counter, pointing a shaking finger at the screen.

"No!" Blair shrieked. "That's impossible! The machine is broken!"

The range officer quickly stepped forward and tapped the control panel. He looked at Blair with a flat expression. "Sensors are functioning perfectly, miss. The score is valid."

Blair looked like she was going to be sick. "It's a fluke! A lucky shot! She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger!"

Sierra immediately jumped in, desperate to save her friend. "Wait! The referee never called 'start'! That shot doesn't count!"

Juliette turned her head. She looked at the two panicked girls and let out a soft, genuine laugh.

She placed the gun down on the table. "You're right," Juliette said, her voice light and completely unbothered. "I was just taking a practice shot. Trying to find the feel of the grip."

The crowd gasped again.

A practice shot? She casually threw a perfect 10.9 just to feel the gun? It was the ultimate insult.

Blair seized the excuse like a drowning woman grabbing a life preserver. "Exactly! Practice shots don't count! The match starts right now!"

Gregory snapped out of his shock and yelled, "Are you kidding me, Blair? You're pathetic! Take the loss!"

Blair glared at Gregory, her chest heaving. "Rules are rules! She has to shoot again!"

The crowd started arguing, half calling Blair a sore loser, the other half whispering that maybe it really was just insane luck.

Juliette ignored them all. She turned around and looked directly at Adrian.

She raised an eyebrow, silently asking if the fertilizer deal was still secure.

Adrian met her gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with absolute indulgence. He gave a single, slow nod.

He mouthed two words to her: Keep going.

Juliette turned back to the table. She picked up the gun. With a fluid, lightning-fast motion, she ejected the empty magazine and slammed a fresh one into the grip.

The movement was so smooth, so violently professional, it made the hair on the back of Gregory's neck stand up.

Juliette looked at Blair. The innocent facade was gone. Her eyes were filled with the absolute, crushing arrogance of a champion.

"Fine," Juliette said, her voice dropping to a freezing register. "Keep your eyes open for this one."