He heard the crack of something, and then Hazel was moving.
She pulled a gun from somewhere. From her jacket, her sleeve, he didn't know. One second her hands were empty. The next, she was crouched low, weapon raised, firing toward the building across the garden.
The sound ripped through the quiet night. Birds scattered from the trees. Somewhere, someone screamed.
Dom lay on the cold ground, heart slamming against his ribs, watching her. She was still. Perfectly still. Her arm was extended, her breathing controlled, her eyes scanning the rooftops. She looked like she'd done this a thousand times. She probably had.
The red light was gone. The shooter was gone.
Hazel stayed in position for another long moment, watching, waiting. Her gaze swept the building once, twice, three times. Then she lowered the gun.
"Clear," she said quietly.
