FireVaney's

41. "Natalie...?" Milt's voice was a hoarse gasp.

42. Bart swung around fast—the rubber of his soles squeaking and losing a bit of grip against the wet street.

43. His shooting arm tightened.

44. Betraying her pasted-on apathy, Natalie watched herself reach out to Milt.

45. But like a drunkard, he batted her arm away.

46. He raised and pressed a shaky forefinger to his lips; then jabbed it in her direction.