He drew. The first arrow took the shotgun from the leader’s hands—not the man, the weapon. A trick shot he’d practiced a thousand times in his backyard, aiming at a tin can on a fence post. The second arrow pinned the second man’s sleeve to a bookshelf. The third man ran.
“No,” he said.
“I know,” Elias said. “That’s the difference between us. I choose not to.” sabre srw