“You’reblind!” Yasmin cries. “You can’t just—you don’t even know where?—”
But Idoknow. I know because Bastian traced every inch of that building onto my palm last night, his finger moving minewhile neither of us could sleep. I memorized the shape of it the way I’ve memorized everything that matters since my world went dark: through touch, repetition, and sheer fucking stubbornness.
“Stay with the car,” I say again, reaching for Excalibur in the footwell. “When I get them out, we’ll need a getaway.”
“Eliana—”
It’s too late to stop me, though. I’m already running.
The fear is a choking hazard in my throat, but through force of will, I shove that down where it can’t slow me. My cane sweeps in tight arcs as I run. The fingertips of my other hand graze along the brick facade until I reach the door. I yank it open and slip inside.
The guard’s boots pound above me. I follow that sound up the stairs.
Second floor. The hallway opens up ahead, and I hear half a dozen things all at once: Sage’s sharp intake of breath, the guard’s surprised grunt, the mechanical click of a safety disengaging.
I don’t think. I just raise my cane swing in what I hope is the right direction.
Lucky for me, it is.
Excalibur connects with the back of the guard’s skull with a crack that reverberates up my arms and into my teeth. The man crumples sideways, his gun skittering away across the floor.
“Eliana!” Bastian’s voice breaks on my name.
Then his hand reaches mine, warm and solid, and he’s pulling me forward. I hear Sage say my name, too.
“Fire escape,” Bastian breathes. “Now.”
We run.
Two pairs of hands help me through the window. The fire escape groans under our combined weight as we descend—Bastian carrying Sage, me stumbling behind with one hand fisted in the back of Bastian’s shirt and the other death-gripping Excalibur. Every step is a reckless prayer that the bolts don’t shear off and send us tumbling into the alley below.
Bastian warns me that it’s a bit of a drop from the foot of the ladder to the ground, but when it’s my turn to go, I still hit the ground hard. My knees buckle on impact and I almost fall until Bastian’s hand shoots out and catches my elbow before I can eat pavement.
“Car’s this way,” he says.
Yasmin must see us coming, because the engine roars to life and tires wail as she pulls up alongside us. Doors fly open. Bastian tosses Sage into the backseat and I throw myself in after, landing on top of the brothers in a graceless tangle of limbs.
“Go!” Bastian barks, barely getting his own door closed before Yasmin floors it.
The acceleration slams me back against the seat. Sage’s bony elbow digs into my ribs. Someone’s knee is in my thigh. I don’t care.
We’re moving.
We’realive.
A quarter mile later, Yasmin screeches to a stop. Another door opens.
Zeke stands there, reeking of smoke, grinning like a fool. “Hey, guys,” he says. “What’d I miss?”
24
ELIANA
counter service /'koun(t)?r 's?rv?s/: noun
1: dining format where customers order directly rather than being served.
2: when you stop waiting for someone to hand you a plan and decide to make your own.
