Clouds drift over the moon.
Ellen feels the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to the back of her head.
Her heart stops and the chill spreads. Ice runs through her veins.
Her eyes widen, moisten. Fear climbs from her tight chest to her throat; it forces a choked sob from her dry mouth.
A breath like silk on her neck elicits tiny tremors. She can smell vodka and sour sweat.
“You are nothing, to the universe.” Male, low, soft.
And she is alone, her heart beating wildly, warm piss soaking her jeans.
A moment's fear, to be carried for the rest of her life.
Spot on, Steve. This thief has stolen something far more valuable than any material object.