And then, for the first time in Abbott’s entire life, he understood everything: this man, this woman, himself, and the gun. Abbott had learned early that when his father got angry at someone, the humanity of his target just evaporated from his mind. In that moment, they were an object, an obstacle unworthy of sympathy or empathy. Abbott had thought his father was a psychopath for as long as he’d known the word, but now, finally, he got it. There is a primal override that shuts off all those feelings, because in moments of maximum peril, they are a weakness that allows the predators and incompetents to do unchecked damage to the world. Abbott raised the gun, looked down the sights, and thought he would find some kind of resistance within himself, some invisible wall of fear or guilt that would push back, prevent him from stepping over this line. Instead, he found nothing at all.