This is what I do. What I love. My mosaic art is all about understanding how things break, how to exploit their weakest points, how to reassemble broken pieces into something strong and new. Ancient merged with modern. I’ve spent years studying fracture patterns in tile, glass, pottery, and metals and learning how to blend them together. What will hold. What won’t.
I know weakness when I see it.
There’s a hairline crack where the modern windows meet the century-old frame, hidden near the bottom corner. Someone tried their best, but the old metal was already weathered before being reheated to form the new joinery.
To anyone else, this would be nothing. To me, it’s a glaring vulnerability. The high-tech lock was bolted directly onto the aging, brittle frame. Poor design. A critical fault.
I need leverage. A tool strong enough to take advantage of that weakness.
Spinning around, I catalogue potential options. The coffee table? Way too cumbersome to lift. Kitchen implements? Too small for the force I’d need. Then my gaze lands on the dining area by the kitchen. Specifically, on the chairs surrounding the table. They aren’t wood like I first thought. They’re architectural pieces crafted from solid welded steel with angular, pointed legs.
A perfect makeshift crowbar with padded seats.
Heart hammering, I hurry to the dining area, grab one of the chairs, and lug it back to the window. The piece of furniture is heavy as hell, but adrenaline and desperation bolster my strength. I position the chair by the window and study the frame again to pinpoint exactly where to apply force.
I don’t want to break the glass. That’s probably impossible anyway. I want to attack the frame, to exploit that tiny crack where old meets new. I lift the chair and swing it against the casement frame near the weak spot. The impact jolts up my arms, but the crack widens.
Hope blossoms in my chest.
This just might work.
Repositioning myself, I wedge one of the chair’s legs into the tiny gap. I throw my entire body weight onto the chair, using itas a lever to pry the lock away from the frame. Nothing happens at first.
“Come on. Break, dammit.”
I shift again, aiming for a better angle, and muster all the strength I have left for one more swing. This time, I put my whole body into the motion…arms, back, and legs.
For a breathtaking moment, the chair sticks, but nothing else happens.
Then I hear the high, sickening whine of stressed metal. My favorite new noise on the planet.
I push harder, my muscles screaming in protest.
A sharp, definitiveplinkbecomes music to my ears. The old metal splits right where I predicted, the frame ripping free. My heart leaps into my throat as I set the chair aside and shove against the window. It resists at first, then swings outward with surprising ease as the aged, overstressed metal finally snaps in a ragged line.
Traffic noise and summer air flood in.
I lean out, expecting to greet a fatal drop. Instead, I almost cry with relief at the sight of a fire escape. Alexei secured the windows but never bothered to remove the stairs that led away from them. Why would he? He never imagined anyone would—or could—access them.
Clutching my heels in one hand, I ease through the opening. The platform creaks under my weight, decades of rust flaking beneath my bare feet. It’s old and rickety, probably as bad as the window frame I just bullied apart. Pretty sure I’ll need a tetanus shot after this.
Whatever. I’ll happily trade twenty jabs for my freedom.
The wind whips my still-damp hair across my face as I peer at the ground below. Ten stories is a long way, and for several heart-stopping seconds, dizziness keeps me captive. The fire escape zigzags down the side of the building in an old-fashioned switchback pattern, each platform connected by a steep ladderlike staircase. Far below, tiny cars and even smaller people move along the street.
After a deep breath, I begin my descent, the metal cold beneath my feet, the railing rough against my palms.
Don’t look down.
Just keep moving.
One flight at a time.
Behind me, the open window yawns open like a gaping maw. I hope Alexei’s face wears the same expression when he returns to find me gone.
Chapter 12
Alexei
