Two in the morning.

 

Two hours past midnight and she's been awake for two days.  The wind plays across her face and cools her tea.  It smells of lavender and chamomile, it refreshes her mind and calms her body.  Sleep may be on the horizon but the horizon is light years away.

 

She is, as they say, between a rock and a hard place.

 

The moonlight glints off of the gun on the table in front of her.  It will make its' own decisions, and to hell with everything else.