Caleb looked at the ledger, then at the gun, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants.

“Two,” I said.

“Please, Daniel,” Caleb begged, his voice barely a whisper.

“Three,” I said, taking a final step toward him.

The silence in the old boatyard was deafening, broken only by the sound of the wind outside.

I stood there, waiting for him to break.

“Four,” I said.

My voice sounded flat, even to my own ears.

The cold in the boatyard seemed to tighten around us like a vise.

Caleb swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the harsh glare of the flashlight.

“Daniel, please,” he whispered, his hands trembling against his knees.

“You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“Five,” I said.

I lowered the muzzle of the pistol until it pointed directly at his kneecap.

“A bullet here means you never walk without a cane,” I said.

“Six.”

Sophia shifted her weight near the rusting hull of an old trawler behind us.

Her breath came in short, ragged puffs of white mist.

“Daniel, we don’t have much time,” she said, her voice strained.