“Brace!”
I aim for the dumpster—a rusted green metal beast sitting against the wall.
I clamp down hard on the rope, the friction burning through my jacket as I arrest our descent.
We hit the lid with a heavy thud, my knees bending to absorb the remaining momentum, but I keep us upright.
“Clear!”
Cassie slides off my back, her boots hitting the lid next to mine. She stumbles; I grab her arm.
We scramble off the dumpster and drop four feet to the wet asphalt of the alley.
I land in a crouch, scanning the mouth of the alley.
“Move.” I separate from the rope.
Crack.
A bullet strikes the pavement inches from my boot, kicking up a spray of dirty water.
“Go!” I shove her toward the exit. “To the street! Blend!”
We stumble out of the shadows and onto the sidewalk.
The transition is jarring. Hallucinatory.
One second, we were falling out of the sky under fire. Now, we’re standing on a busy Philadelphia street.
A city bus rumbles past. People in wool coats walk by.
Nobody looks up. Nobody sees the shattered window five stories high.
“The garage,” I say. “Walk. Don’t run.”
“My ankle …” Cassie grimaces.
“Lean on me.”
I wrap my left arm around her waist.
It looks like support. It looks like a boyfriend helping his girlfriend.
It feels like possession.
I pull her into my side, shielding her body with mine, scanning the rooftops, the intersections, the passing cars.
Threat vector left. Delivery truck idling. Driver is on a phone. Watch him.
Threat vector right. Police cruiser at the light. Don’t look at it.
My burner phone vibrates against my ribs.
Phoenix. Or Whisper. Or the police scanner picking up the “Shots fired” call at the hotel.
I ignore it.
We cross the street. Cassie is shaking so hard the tremors vibrate through her frame into mine.
