Oran shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the desk on his way up. In the same heartbeat, Torin, Conner, and I drew our guns. “I did NOT set my father up to die. Losing him fucking gutted me, and if taking a bullet is what I have to do to prove that, then pull the goddamn trigger.” Oran’s eyes blazed. Seconds ticked by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. I slowly lowered my gun, though my cousins kept theirs raised. “Then how do you explain it all, Oran? Because we need some fucking answers.”
