@saliida.
Abram stands frozen, stopped dead by the cold, hard muzzle of a gun against his spine. He slowly raises his hands until they’re level with his shoulders. For what feels like several minutes, the only thing he hears is the inhabitant’s shaking breath, the night wind against his ears, the distant tittering of cicadas.
The fear he smells on the other -- it makes the situation unpredictable and, frankly, dangerous. But there’s something else he senses. This individual... they don’t seem like some ruthless criminal, from what he can tell. But these days, Abram’s not even sure that he can trust his own intuition. Better to just go along with it.
“... Got the impression it was deserted.” It’s a lie. He knew they’d been stirring on the top floor of the store, but he was sure they’d ignore him if he pretended to be unaware. “Ain’t lookin’ for trouble-- scraps, if anythin’.”
