Halfway up, my legs give out completely. I feel myself falling backward, and then Kazimir's arms are around me, catching me before I can tumble down the stairs.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my hair. "Just a little further."
I want to tell him I don't need his reassurance, that I don't need anything from him. But I don't have the breath for it. So I just nod and let him half-carry me up the rest of the stairs, his arm like iron around my waist, bearing most of my weight.
At the top, he pauses, listening. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, so loud I'm sure it will give us away. But the corridor ahead is silent and empty.
“Quietly,” Kazimir whispers, and we move forward toward the door ahead of us.
My legs are shaking so badly I'm not sure they'll hold me, but I lock my knees and stay upright through sheer force of will. Kazimir moves slightly ahead, and I see him slide a gun out from inside his parka, his hand tight around the grip of it. He pauses, reaching up to tug something else out from under the coat.
“Here.” His voice is low enough I can barely hear him. “Put this on.”
It’s a jacket made of a thick, chocolate-colored suede leather, I realize. It’s not going to protect me completely against the cold here, but it’s better than going out into the snow in nothing but a slip and bare feet. There’s nothing to be done about the shoes, but I slip the jacket on without arguing.
It’s warm, and it smells like him, I realize with a jolt. It’s a warm, spicy, peppery scent, and the jacket swims on me, falling below the curve of my ass. I wrap it around myself tightly, hating a little how good it feels and smells. There’s a feeling of safety in it that I know isn’t real, but that I briefly cling to anyway.
“Behind me,” Kazimir says, his voice still very quiet. “When we get out, once I take down any guards, go to the left. I’ll take us toward the garage.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
Kazimir pads forward, slowly turning the knob of the door. He eases it open and looks out through the crack, opening it wider as I follow him out. I see the guard to the left of the door the second after he does, and by the time I’ve registered the man leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette in the pre-dawn light, Kazimir’s arm is already around his throat, choking him.
With a twist of his arm, the guard’s head snaps to one side, and he sinks to the snow. Dead, I realize hollowly, and I wonder if I should feel bad about it. This man never touched me. I’ve never seen him before. Maybe he didn’t even know what Iosef and the other men were doing to me. Maybe he had no idea what—who—was in those cells.
Or maybe he did. He’s here, working for them, and that’s enough at this point to make me not care.
Kazimir's hand tightens on my arm as he pulls me forward, against his side, and my eyes water as the cold of the snow against my bare feet registers. There’s a strong wind out, and I’m cold instantly despite the jacket, my feet going numb as we hurry forward. Kazimir is moving us as fast as he can get me to go, and I grit my teeth against the pain, tears streaming from my eyes as he hugs the wall and moves us forward toward the garage.
We’re nearly there when we hear boots crunching on the snow.
Kazimir pulls me flat against the wall next to him, easing toward the corner as he waits for the footsteps to get closer. We stand there, me shuddering with cold, both of us barely breathing as the footsteps grow closer.
A guard steps just past the corner. He's young, maybe in his early twenties, and he looks half-asleep. He's carrying aflashlight, sweeping it lazily back and forth as he walks. Doing his rounds, probably, checking that everything is secure.
Kazimir moves like a striking snake. The man doesn’t even have a chance to cry out before Kazimir has yanked him backward, snapped his neck, and dropped his body into the snow. I’m still processing what I’ve seen as he grabs my arm and urges me forward again, through the gap between buildings toward the garage.
My feet don’t hurt any longer, but that’s because they’re numb. I wonder, through the fog of pain, how exactly one gets frostbite. How long do my toes have to be frozen before I lose them?
I don’t know, but I’m very worried I’m going to find out.
It’s better than being locked in there. Anything is.
Kazimir eases us around the side of the garage to a side door. He tries the handle and curses under his breath as he realizes it’s locked. “Stay close to the wall,” he hisses, pulling a packet from his coat pocket—lockpicks, I realize a second later—and gets to work, crouched in front of the door.
I lean against the wall, trying to stay upright and conscious. The adrenaline that's been keeping me going is starting to fade, and exhaustion is rushing in to take its place.
"Almost there," Kazimir mutters, more to himself than to me, I think.
The lock clicks and the door swings open.
The garage is cold and cavernous, filled with expensive vehicles that probably cost more than most people make in a lifetime. I can see my breath fogging heavily in the air. The concrete floor is even colder than the rest of the building, and my feet scream in protest as we cross it.
Kazimir sweeps his gaze across the garage and quickly scoops me into his arms, carrying me straight toward a dark green LandRover. The car is unlocked, and he opens the passenger’s side door, setting me inside.
The seat is buttery-soft leather, an echo from my old life. I sink into it, my body screaming with relief at being off my feet. I watch Kazimir walk toward the driver’s side of the car, but he pauses, quickly taking in the other vehicles. He glances back at me, then pulls out a long, wicked-looking knife as he moves through the lines of cars, slashing the tires of every one that looks like it could handle snow.
He’s slowing them down, I realize, watching him through the fog of pain and heavy eyelids. Smart.
