Neon Noir Standoff

In smoky rooms the silent heat begins to rise, A suited shadow aims, steel flashing in his eyes. The crowd behind dissolves in amber, torn and loud, While fate holds breath, a bullet prayed into the crowd. The lampglow paints his jaw with copper, hard and clean, A narrow line of mercy where the dark has been. No sirens yet—just seconds stretched like violin, And courage, clenched in velvet, keeps the night within.