The Queen Who Fights Back (by Lily Hastings) novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52

“Is she out of her mind? Does she really believe she can take down a sniper with just a handgun?” Waylon muttered under his breath, his sun-kissed skin blending seamlessly into the dim shadows around him.

Based on the earlier shots at the firing range, it was clear the sniper was perched on the rooftop directly across from them, roughly 160 feet away.

Shooting from a higher vantage point gave the sniper a significant advantage. It was far easier to aim downward than to shoot upward from below. And handguns, with their short barrels, light frames, and lack of shoulder support, were notoriously inaccurate over long distances.

Even on flat terrain, a skilled marksman would struggle to hit a target accurately beyond 100 feet. Past that point, the stopping power of a handgun dropped sharply, rarely delivering fatal wounds.

Yet, here was Nova, attempting to counter-snipe using only a pistol. She faced two deadly challenges.

First, the sniper was no amateur; the moment she fired, he would return fire without hesitation.

Second, shooting upward from ground level drastically reduced her effective range, and the target was well over 160 feet away.

This was a gamble even the world’s best sharpshooters would avoid.

The team watched in tense silence as Nova, pistol gripped firmly in one hand, continuously dodged the sniper’s rhythmic bullets.

“Damn it! She said I’d hold the team back? Look at her! She’s nothing but a walking disaster!” Waylon hissed, tightening his hold on his own pistol, ready to rush forward and yank Nova to safety.

But just as he moved, Nova—exposed to the sniper’s relentless fire—suddenly froze.

Her eyes dropped, narrowing in intense focus. Her battlefield-trained hearing had pinpointed the sniper’s exact position the instant the trigger was pulled.

For snipers, being spotted was the ultimate danger. After firing multiple shots, they had to relocate immediately to avoid being counter-attacked.

The key to a successful counter-kill was seizing that fleeting moment when the sniper revealed himself by shooting.

This was it.

Facing the incoming bullet head-on, Nova stopped dodging. She raised her pistol steadily and fired two precise shots toward the distant rooftop. She was risking everything.

Waylon, Jordan, and the others could barely watch. Some closed their eyes, unwilling to picture the worst.

But the nightmare never came.

Instead, a sharp screech shattered the air.

Sparks flew in midair as Nova’s last bullet collided with the sniper’s round with perfect timing.

Simultaneously, a heavy thud echoed from the building ahead—the unmistakable sound of someone falling from the rooftop.

Veteran soldiers like Waylon and Jordan recognized it instantly: the sniper’s body hitting the ground.

Nova hadn’t just survived a deadly encounter—she had pulled off the impossible, a flawless counter-snipe kill.

Realization dawned, and Jordan, Waylon, Jose, Wyatt, and the rest stared at Nova in stunned disbelief.

This fearless young woman, who had turned near-certain death into victory, was just a student? Her skill rivaled that of the world’s top snipers.

Watching the breathtaking moment and recalling his earlier disdain for Nova, Waylon swallowed hard. He stood frozen, speechless.

As soldiers rigorously trained in combat, they had never been so utterly shocked. But this time, the impact was overwhelming.

It wasn’t until Nova’s voice cut through the silence that they snapped back to reality.

“Why are you standing there? Move out.”

They had been spotted by these international fugitives, and Nova had just eliminated their deadliest obstacle—the rooftop sniper.

There were many targets left to capture. Now, the real battle was beginning.

Nova signaled for them to stay close behind her and ascended the stairs without hesitation.

Rounding a corner, she fired two sharp shots.

The two fugitives on the second floor collapsed instantly, unable to react.

Her crisp, efficient movements left Waylon and the others in awe. They realized her earlier question, “Is killing permitted?” had been deadly serious.

The thuds of the bodies hitting the floor alerted the third-floor fugitive, who cautiously descended with his pistol drawn—only to be met with a bullet to the head from Nova.

When the group reached the fourth floor, the special forces exchanged uneasy glances. They felt like mere followers, overshadowed and ineffective throughout the entire operation.

That realization gnawed at them, planting seeds of doubt: “Between us and Nova, who really are the trained professionals here?”

Pressing close to the wall, hidden from view, Nova and the team waited. Only a thin barrier separated them from the last group of fugitives.

The passageway’s doorway was to her left—no door, just a wide-open entrance.

Just as she readied herself to breach, a cold, mocking laugh echoed from inside.

“I never thought you’d track us down here. Impressive,” a young man sneered.

“But… are you really prepared to fight to the death? Don’t you care about these two lives?”

As he spoke, he waved his hand, and several fugitives—SLRA’s hidden masters—dragged two struggling hostages into the center of the room.

Through the shards of broken glass, Nova, Jordan, and the others could see clearly.

The hostages, with guns pressed mercilessly to their heads, were Maxwell and Hannah.