Kane woke before the sun, the armchair leaving a stiff kink in his neck that he ignored. He checked on Liora first—door cracked open, her small shape breathing steady under the blankets, one arm wrapped around the stuffed bear she still pretended she didn't need. She was out cold. Good. He moved through the quiet house, started the coffee, and stood at the kitchen window while it brewed. The street outside looked normal enough. No fresh damage, no new smoke. But the air carried a different weight this morning, like the whole neighborhood was waiting for something.
He drank the coffee black and hot, then went over the bug-out bags one more time. Added extra 5.56 boxes from the safe, checked the truck's gas gauge again. Everything sat ready. By the time Liora wandered out in her oversized Marine Corps T-shirt, rubbing sleep from her eyes, breakfast was on the table—oatmeal with the last of the brown sugar.
"Sleep okay?" he asked.
She nodded and slid into her chair. "Yeah. Dreamed about the mountains again. It was quiet there." She spooned oatmeal slowly, glancing up at him between bites. "Can we do something normal today? Like before everything got weird?"
Kane set his own spoon down. Normal sounded right. "Yeah, kid. Let's hit the indoor range. The safe one we go to. You can watch me run some drills, same as last time. No shooting for you yet, but you'll see how it all works up close."
Her hazel eyes brightened, freckles standing out when she smiled. "Really? Okay. I like watching you do that."
They left twenty minutes later. Kane locked the house tight—deadbolt, extra bar, alarm armed even though the power was still on. Liora buckled into the passenger seat, range bag at her feet. The drive through the Denver suburbs felt lighter than yesterday. Traffic was thin. A couple stores already had plywood over the windows. One gas station had a handwritten sign taped up: CASH ONLY – NO FUEL AFTER DARK.
The indoor range was tucked in an industrial park behind a chain-link fence. Kane badged in at the counter, paid cash for the lane, and signed the log. The guy behind the glass looked worn out, eyes flicking toward the parking lot every few seconds. "Heard about Aurora last night?" he muttered. "Cops say it's spreading west now."
Kane just nodded. "We'll keep it short."
Inside, the air hit thick and familiar—gunpowder, hot brass, and the sharp bite of solvent. Ear protection on, eyes on. Kane set Liora on a stool well behind the firing line, safe and out of the way. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching every move like it mattered.
He pulled the Mk18 from its case. The short barrel felt right in his hands, suppressor already threaded. He loaded a magazine—smooth thirty-round click—and stepped up to the line.
"This is the one I run," he told her, voice low. "Keeps everything simple and reliable."
Liora leaned forward, messy auburn hair falling across her face. "It looks heavy when you hold it."
"Not once you know what you're doing," he said. He started the first drill slow on purpose. Failure to fire. Trigger pull—click. Nothing. He tapped the magazine, racked the charging handle, and put three quick shots into the paper target twenty yards downrange. The suppressor gave a soft cough. Brass tinkled onto the concrete.
"See that?" he said, turning so she could hear. "Gun doesn't go off, you fix it fast. Tap, rack, bang. No panic. Just handle it."
Liora's eyes stayed wide, but steady. "What if it happens when it really counts? Like if something bad is happening right then?"
He cleared the weapon and set it down safe. "Then you do exactly the same thing. Breathe. Fix it. Keep moving." He ran the drill again, faster this time. Malfunction after malfunction, each one cleared smooth and automatic. The range air grew thicker with cordite, the sharp smell biting at the back of his throat, sweat mixing with the oil on his hands. His scar pulled tight when he focused. Nothing flashy—just years of doing the same thing until it lived in his muscles.
Liora watched without looking away once. "You make it look easy, Daddy."
"It's not easy," he said, wiping the rifle down. "But you practice enough and it becomes automatic. Like riding a bike, except this bike can keep you alive."
She chewed her lip, thinking hard. "Can I try it someday? Not today, but when I'm older? Like, really older?"
Kane paused, hands still on the warm metal. He looked at her—nine years old, asking because she trusted him to say yes when it was time. "Yeah. When you're older. We'll do it right. Safety first, always. But eyes front when it counts."
She gave a small, proud smile. "Eyes front. Got it."
They packed up after forty minutes. Kane didn't linger. Range time was for focus, not hanging around. The guy at the counter looked even more on edge now. "Power's been flickering downtown," he said as he handed back the logbook. "Radio says it might get worse. You heading straight home?"
"Straight there," Kane answered.
The drive back felt different. The truck radio crackled with more updates—looting in Lakewood now, National Guard delayed on I-25, something about "grid anomalies" moving across the Front Range. Liora sat quiet, staring out at the half-empty streets. Halfway home the dashboard lights flickered once, hard. The radio cut out for three full seconds, then stuttered back on, voice garbled.
Kane's hands tightened on the wheel. The engine didn't miss, but the truck felt suddenly fragile.
Liora noticed right away. "Daddy? The lights just blinked."
"Yeah," he said, keeping his tone even. "Probably nothing. Old wiring." But he kept his eyes on the road the rest of the way.
They pulled into the driveway. The porch light was still on from the night before. Kane killed the engine and sat for a second, listening. No new sirens close by. No new smoke. Still, the Front Range felt like it was watching.
Liora unbuckled. "Can we go through the bags again inside? I want to make sure I remember what's in them."
He ruffled her hair. "You bet. Then we'll make lunch. Keep the day as normal as we can."
They stepped inside and he locked the door behind them. Kane set the rifle case down and clicked on the TV low. The local news anchor looked rattled.
"…officials report multiple substations experiencing unexplained failures across the metro area. Residents are advised to conserve power and stay indoors…"
He turned it off before Liora could catch the rest. She was already on the living room floor pulling MREs out of the bug-out bag, serious and focused like the job was the most important thing in the world.
Kane rolled up his sleeves and dropped down beside her on the rug. "Alright, kid. Show me what you remember from last night."
They sorted supplies together while the house lights stayed steady—for now. Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the faint smell of something burning far off.