The first shot went through the refuge’s empty cooking pot.
Iven heard the iron ring before he saw the hole. Hot ash scattered from the stove’s mouth. Sann dropped flat behind the sand box while the lamp above her swung against its cord.
“Down!” he shouted.
The second shot struck the outer post.
He put a plate across the southern doorway and drove his own protection close around his shoulders. Outside, three lights moved on black water. One remained far out in the channel. Two came toward the steps from different angles.
He had arrived before dusk for the refuge’s agreed evening watch, expecting another argument about claimed cargo. Now someone had made the argument with a rifle.
Elian was already pulling the inner reed screen aside.
“Upper bank,” Iven told him. “Keep them low until the stair.”
