Chapter 55 The Anatomy of a Gun
The shooting range was cold and it was not temperature cold. The type of cold that came from concrete walls and fluorescent lights and the absence of windows. Veyra stood at a long metal table, the Nightblade disassembled in front of her, its parts laid out like organs on a surgeon’s tray.
Li Wei stood across from her. His hands were steady. His voice was calm.
"This is the slide," he said, picking up the top portion of the gun. "It houses the firing pin and the extractor. When the gun fires, the slide moves backward to eject the spent casing and load a new round."
Veyra nodded. She tried to memorize the word. Slide.
He set the slide down. He picked up the barrel. "This is the barrel. The bullet travels through it. The inside has spiral grooves called rifling. They spin the bullet for accuracy."
"Rifling," Veyra repeated.
He picked up the spring. "Recoil spring. It returns the slide to its forward position after firing."
He picked up the frame. "The frame is the body of the gun. It holds everything together. The trigger mechanism is inside here. The magazine goes in here."
He pointed to each part as he named it. Magazine. Trigger. Trigger guard. Magazine release. Safety. Sights.
Veyra’s head was spinning. There were so many parts. So many names.
Then Li Wei’s hands moved.
He picked up the frame. He inserted the trigger assembly. He placed the recoil spring. He slid the barrel into place. He put the slide on top. He pushed the takedown lever.
Click.
The pistol was whole again.
Veyra stared. Her heart pounded. Her adrenaline surged.
He had done it in seconds. Less than ten. The parts had come together like they were magnetized.
"How do you do that so fast?" she asked.
Li Wei shrugged. "Practice. Ten thousand times."
"Ten thousand?"
"At least."
He set the assembled pistol down. He pushed it across the table toward her.
"Your turn."
Veyra picked up the Nightblade.
Her hands were steady. Her breathing was calm. She had watched Li Wei’s demonstration. She had memorized every step. The slide. The barrel. The spring. The frame.
She pressed the magazine release. The magazine dropped into her palm. She set it aside.
She locked the slide back. She rotated the takedown lever. She pulled the slide forward.
Nothing happened.
She frowned. She tried again. The slide would not come off.
"Too much pressure," Li Wei said. "Ease up."
She eased up. The slide slid off. She set it down.
She removed the barrel. It came out easily.
She removed the recoil spring. It would not budge.
She pulled. Nothing. She pulled harder. Nothing.
"The spring is under tension," Li Wei said. "You need to compress it slightly before removing it."
He showed her. A small pinch. A slight twist. The spring came free.
Veyra’s cheeks were hot. She had watched him do it. She had thought she understood. But her hands would not cooperate.
She continued. The trigger assembly. She could not figure out how to remove it.
"This one is tricky," Li Wei said. He reached over. His fingers pressed a small catch. The trigger assembly lifted out.
Veyra looked at the pile of parts on the table. She had done it. Sort of. With help.
"How long did that take?" she asked.
Li Wei looked at his watch. "Three minutes."
Three minutes. Li Wei could do it in ten seconds.
She felt a wave of discouragement wash over her.
"Now assemble it," Li Wei said.
Veyra picked up the frame. She inserted the trigger assembly. It clicked into place. Good.
She inserted the recoil spring.
It did not fit.
She turned it around. Still did not fit. She turned it again. Still did not fit.
"Backwards," Li Wei said.
She looked at the spring. The ends were different. One side was wider. One side was narrower.
"The wide end goes against the frame," Li Wei said. "The narrow end goes toward the barrel."
She flipped the spring. It slid into place.
She inserted the barrel. It fit.
She put the slide on. It would not close.
She pushed. Nothing. She pushed harder. Nothing.
"The spring is not seated properly," Li Wei said. "Remove it and try again."
She removed the spring. Seated it again. Put the slide on.
It closed.
She inserted the takedown lever. She rotated it. Click.
The gun was whole.
She looked at Li Wei. "How long?"
He looked at his watch. "Five minutes."
Five minutes. She had taken five minutes to assemble a gun that Li Wei could assemble in seconds.
She set the pistol down. Her shoulders slumped.
"This is harder than I thought," she said.
Li Wei picked up the Nightblade. He disassembled it in ten seconds. He reassembled it in ten seconds. He set it back on the table.
"Everyone is like this the first time," he said. "No one picks up a gun and instantly knows how to take it apart."
Veyra looked at him. "Were you?"
"My first time took seven minutes. And I put the spring in backwards three times."
She almost smiled. "Really?"
"Really. Proficiency comes from practice. The more you do it, the faster you get. Your muscles learn. Your fingers remember."
He pushed the gun toward her.
"Try again."
She picked it up. She disassembled it. Two minutes and forty seconds this time. Faster.
She assembled it. Four minutes and thirty seconds. Faster.
"Again," Li Wei said.
She did it again. Two minutes and twenty seconds. Four minutes and ten seconds.
"Again."
She did it again. Two minutes. Three minutes and fifty seconds.
"Again."
Her fingers were sore. Her forearms were tired. But she kept going.
Two minutes. Three minutes and thirty seconds.
She looked at the pile of parts. Then at the assembled gun. Then at Li Wei.
"Again," she said before he could.
He nodded.
She kept going.
The cellar was quiet.
Outside, the sun was high. The air was hot. The garden would be shimmering with heat. But down here, beneath the earth, it was cool. Almost cold. The concrete walls absorbed the temperature. The fluorescent lights hummed softly.
The only sound was the metallic clinking of Veyra’s practice.
Click. The magazine dropped.
Click. The slide locked back.
Click. The takedown lever rotated.
The slide came off. The barrel came out. The spring came out. The parts arranged on the table.
Then back together. The spring. The barrel. The slide. The takedown lever.
Click.
She looked at her watch. One minute and forty seconds for disassembly. Two minutes and fifty seconds for assembly.
She was getting faster. Slowly. But she was getting faster.
She did it again.
One minute and thirty-five seconds. Two minutes and forty seconds.
Again.
One minute and thirty seconds. Two minutes and thirty seconds.
Her fingers were sore. Her wrists ached. Her shoulders were tight.
But she did not stop.
She thought about Eleanor. About the meditation room. About the darkness and the silence.
She thought about Caspian. About the basement. About the three days without food or water.
She thought about Lily. About the cage. About the knife at her throat.
She would never be helpless again.
She picked up the gun.
Li Wei’s voice cut through the quiet.
"Mrs. Thorne."
She looked up. Her hands were still wrapped around the gun. The parts were disassembled on the table.
"It’s been two hours," Li Wei said. "Time for lunch."
She looked at her watch. Two hours. It had felt like twenty minutes.
"Just a few more minutes," she said. "I want to get disassembly under a minute."
Li Wei shook his head. He reached across the table. He picked up the holster. He set it on the far side of the table, out of her reach.
"Mr. Thorne was very clear," he said. "The training cannot affect the baby."
Veyra’s hand went to her stomach. The baby. She had forgotten. She had been so focused on the gun, on the parts, on the movements, that she had forgotten about the small life growing inside her.
"The baby is fine," she said.
"The baby is fine now. But you need to eat. You need to rest. You need to take care of yourself."
She wanted to argue. She wanted to grab the holster and keep practicing. But Li Wei was right. And worse, Dorian was right.
She sighed. She set the parts down. She pushed back from the table.
"Fine," she said. "Lunch."
Li Wei smiled. Just a little. "Good choice."
She followed him out of the shooting range.
They walked through the armory. Through the metal door. Down the dark corridor. Up the narrow stone stairs.
The light changed as they climbed. Fluorescent gave way to natural. Cold gave way to warm.
Veyra blinked as they emerged into the main hallway. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the cellar. The sunlight streaming through the windows was almost painful.
She could smell food. Roasted meat. Fresh bread. Something sweet.
Her stomach growled.
They walked toward the living room. The sounds of conversation grew louder. Clinking dishes. Silverware on plates.
Veyra stepped through the doorway.
The living room had been transformed. The large table in the center was covered with dishes. Platters of food. Bowls of soup. A basket of bread. A pitcher of water.
And seated around the table were the family.
Grandmother Thorne sat at the head. Her wheelchair had been pushed up to the table. A blanket was tucked around her legs. Her face was tired but composed.
Beatrice sat beside her. She was cutting a piece of meat into small bites. Her movements were careful. Precise.
Harold sat across from Beatrice. His face was red. His jaw was tight. He looked like he had been arguing about something.
And Lily.
Lily was at the far end of the table. Her neck was still bandaged. But her face was bright. Happy. She was eating bread and butter and swinging her legs under the table.
She saw Veyra first.
"Veyra!" Lily waved. "Come sit by me!"
Veyra smiled. She walked toward the table.
She felt eyes on her. Grandmother Thorne’s. Beatrice’s. Harold’s. They did not smile. They did not wave.
But they did not tell her to leave.
She sat down beside Lily.
Lily grabbed her hand. "Where were you? I looked for you this morning."
"I was in the cellar," Veyra said. "Learning about guns."
Lily’s eyes went wide. "Guns? Real guns?"
"Real guns."
"Can I learn?"
Veyra looked at Li Wei. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Maybe when you’re older," Veyra said.
Lily pouted. But she did not argue.
Beatrice set down her knife. She looked at Veyra.
"The Old Madam wants to know if you’re feeling well," Beatrice said. Her voice was neutral. "After everything that happened."
Veyra looked at Grandmother Thorne. The old woman’s eyes were on her. Cold. Assessing.
"I’m fine," Veyra said. "Thank you for asking."
Grandmother Thorne said nothing. She picked up her fork and continued eating.
Veyra took a piece of bread. She buttered it. She took a bite.
The conversation around the table was stilted. Harold was still angry about something. Beatrice kept glancing at the Old Madam. Lily chattered about the cookies she wanted to bake.
Veyra ate her bread and said nothing.