I want to stop.
I want to curl into a ball and wait for this nightmare to end.
But my rescuer commands, and I obey.
He tells me to duck, I duck.
He tells me to run, I run.
He pulls me left, I pivot without thinking.
We move like we’ve been waltzing together since birth, like my body has decided to trust him even though my brain is still screaming that I don’t know this man, don’t know if he’s saving me or just stealing me for himself.
A door bursts open to our right, but my rescuer only spins, firing twice while we keep moving.
I don’t look at the bodies. I don’t look at the blood. I look at the back of his head, at the black mask covering his face, at the Kevlar stretched across shoulders broad enough to block out the world.
Jassy would be taking mental notes. Jassy would be memorizing details for later, building a profile, calculating odds.
I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet.
We burst through a final door and suddenly there’s cold air on my face, sharp and clean, and gravel crunching under my sneakers. A car waits ahead, sleek and black and already running.
Almost there.
Almost safe.
Almost—
Oh!
Terror grips my heart when I see a much younger girl—fifteen or sixteen maybe?—with mascara streaking down her cheeks and a torn dress hanging off one shoulder. Two men in suits are dragging her back toward the building, and she’s fighting them, kicking and scratching and screaming, but they’re too strong and no one is coming for her.
No one except me.
“Stop!”
My rescuer’s voice is harsh, commanding, but my legs are already moving.
I’m not thinking as I run.
All I know is that—
“STOP!”
It’s too late to stop.
I’m already sprinting toward her, my sneakers slipping on gravel, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have a plan. All I have is the desperate, stupid hope that maybe I can distract them long enough for—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
All three shots find its targets.
Bodies drop to the ground, the girl stumbles free with a sob, and then my rescuer is there, grabbing my arm hard enough to bruise, shoving both of us toward the car.
“Get in. Now.”
The girl scrambles into the back seat. I’m shoved into the front. The doors slam, the locks click, and we’re moving before I can even catch my breath.
