The gun settled, ivory grips cold against his palms. An unfamiliar if perfectly balanced weight. At this range, despite a pain that turned the world into starry fractals, there was no possibility of missing.

The explosion was deafening, a distant echo rolling off the nearby rooftops. Never a man to take chances, he fought recoil and fired again.

He heard Elletra roll to her feet, and with great effort found his own way upright.

A neckerchief with a fleur-de-lis motif and a very familiar coat of arms lay on the floor, pierced by two neat holes. The eldest Janse-Lomberg was nowhere to be seen.

There was a curious sensation at his side, and Hawkeye quite gratefully sagged against a concerned Elletra who insisted on looking at the rather bloody injury to his ribs.

“Never thought I’d die in uniform,” he managed. She laid him down again gently.