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."

Juliette's icy declaration froze the air in the room.

Blair swallowed hard, her throat dry. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white. "Start the timer!" she snapped at the officer.

The officer wiped sweat from his forehead. He raised his hand. "Begin!"

The word had barely left his mouth before Juliette's arm snapped up.

There was no hesitation. No long, drawn-out aiming process.

Bang.

The screen flashed instantly. 10.9.

A collective gasp sucked the oxygen out of the room.

Juliette didn't lower the gun. Her thumb flicked the hammer back in a blur of motion. Her eyes never left the target.

Bang.

10.8.

Bang.

10.9.

Bang.

10.7.

Juliette turned into a machine. The rhythm of her shots was terrifyingly fast, exactly 1.5 seconds apart. Her body absorbed the recoil perfectly, her arm remaining as steady as a concrete pillar.

Ten bullets tore through the air in less than twenty seconds.

The final shot echoed through the bay.

The electronic screen calculated the total. The massive number glowed brightly against the dark wall.

108.5.

It was a score that would shatter the national amateur championship record. It was total, undeniable annihilation.

Juliette smoothly dropped the empty magazine into her palm. She placed the pistol heavily onto the wooden table. The dull thud echoed in the dead silence.

She turned around. She looked down at Blair.

"Does that score count?" Juliette asked, her voice perfectly flat.

Blair's knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the hard concrete floor. Her perfectly styled hair fell into her face. Her chest he heave as she stared at the glowing numbers, her brain unable to process the humiliation.

Sierra backed away slowly, terrified to even stand near Blair, completely intimidated by the suffocating pressure radiating from Juliette.

Gregory leaped onto the leather sofa, pumping both fists in the air. "Holy shit! You are the queen of the range!"

Phoebe burst into tears. She ran forward and threw her arms around Juliette's neck. "I knew it! I knew you were a badass! We are eating steak tonight!"

Juliette patted Phoebe's back gently, then pushed her away.

She walked slowly toward Blair, stopping right in front of her. She looked down at the trembling girl.

"A pallet of premium experimental fertilizer," Juliette said coldly. "Delivered to the agriculture greenhouse by Monday morning. Don't forget."

Blair bit her lip so hard it bled. Tears of pure humiliation spilled down her cheeks. She couldn't speak. She just gave a jerky, pathetic nod.

Satisfied, Juliette's cold aura vanished instantly. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed her right wrist, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar muscle strain.

She turned her head and looked to the back of the crowd.

Adrian was standing exactly where she left him. His dark eyes were tracking her every move. The intensity in his gaze was heavy enough to crush coal into diamonds.

The crowd immediately scrambled out of Juliette's way, parting to create a clear path between her and Adrian. Nobody dared to breathe the word 'dirt-girl' ever again.

Juliette walked up to him. She tilted her head back to look at his face. Her eyes were bright, shining with the pure joy of a successful harvest.

She held out her right hand, palm up.

"Three weekends," Juliette demanded, her tone completely factual. "Seventy-two hours of potato data."

Adrian looked down at her outstretched hand. A deep, rumbling laugh started in his chest and vibrated through his throat.

He reached out. His massive hand completely engulfed hers. He squeezed her fingers gently.

He leaned down, his voice thick with a dark, possessive affection for everyone to hear.

"As you wish, my queen."