Chapter 2
The gravel crunched beneath Marcus’s heavy boots as he took half a step closer, towering over Lucas. The spectators along the safety line fell silent, sensing that the interruption was about to be handled firmly. Marcus looked down with condescension, treating the boy not as a challenger, but as a nuisance that needed to be cleared away before the afternoon relay began.
“This isn't a playground for poor little boys,” Marcus said, his tone dripping with absolute finality. He gestured vaguely toward the exit path with a flick of his chin. “Go back down to the parking lot and wait by the soda machine. Adults are shooting here today.”
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Lucas’s jaw tightened, the muscles ticking in his cheek. He didn't drop his head in shame. Instead, he slowly lowered himself to one knee in the dirt, keeping his movements deliberate and calm. He unzipped the worn canvas gun bag with a long, steady pull, the metal zipper catching slightly on a frayed thread before gliding open. Inside, nestled against a lining of old flannel, lay a meticulously folded piece of heavy parchment paper. He lifted the document carefully with both hands, making sure the dust of the range didn't smudge the ink. He didn't say a word as he held it out toward the man in the black shirt, offering it like a flag of truce or a summons that could not be legally ignored.
Marcus hesitated, surprised by the boy's composure. He reached out with two fingers, taking the paper with visible reluctance, expecting some childish drawing or a scribbled note from an absentee parent who had sent the kid on a fool’s errand. But as his eyes scanned the official letterhead, the stern look on his face faltered for a fraction of a second. The grey-shirted man stepped closer, peering over Marcus's shoulder to read the embossed text. The atmosphere under the white tent shifted instantly from casual exclusion to heavy, undeniable tension. Lucas remained kneeling on the dusty ground, his dark hoodie brushing the grass, waiting for them to understand what his presence truly meant.
