But when Jace threw me a wink over his shoulder, humming theMission: Impossibletheme while he ran, I couldn’t help it. I picked up the pace.
Cold air slapped me in the face. The night smelled like damp grass. Somewhere far off, a train horn wailed, long and judgmental.
The wrought iron fence rose ahead, black and shiny under the moon. A camera perched above the gate blinked lazily, sweeping the area in slow arcs.
Parker crouched low, his eyes tracking the movement. “Fifteen-second rotation. We go on three.”
I blinked. “You counted?”
He didn’t look up. “Twice. The guard in the booth checks his phone between passes, too. He’s scrolling Instagram.”
Jace and I stared at him.
“How the hell do youknowthat?” Jace whispered.
Parker finally glanced over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “I pay attention.”
Jace leaned toward me, muttering, “I’m starting to think he’s not actually human.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, still watching Parker. “Either that or he’s got Google Maps implanted in his brain.”
The camera turned. “Go!”
We climbed. The iron was slick with dew, and freezing against my palms.
Halfway up, Jace grunted behind me, muttering a string of curses that could’ve peeled paint.
“Shit! I’m stuck!”
I looked down. His hoodie had caught on one of the top spikes, the fabric twisted tight like it had declared war on him. He tried yanking it free, but the motion only made it worse.
“Dude,” I hissed. “Just take it off.”
“In what world is stripping mid-felony a good idea?” he whisper-yelled, still flailing.
Parker sighed and then reached up, grabbed a handful of Jace’s hoodie, and yanked. The fabric tore loose with a rip loud enough to make my stomach clench. Both of them tumbled over the top, hitting the ground on the other side in a graceless heap of limbs and swearing.
“Graceful,” I muttered, dropping down beside them and landing in a crouch. My knees protested the impact.
“I’m built for highlight reels, not stealth,” Jace snapped, standing up and brushing himself off.
“You’re built for hospital bills,” Parker said flatly, shoving the duffel back over his shoulder.
Jace scowled. “Love the support, guys.”
“Shut up,” Parker said. “We’re exposed.”
We crouched low. The quad stretched out like a movie set—manicured lawns, marble benches, a fountain so fancy it probably had an endowment.
“Even their grass smells rich,” Jace whispered.
“That’s called fertilizer,” Parker said, his eyes scanning the walkways.
We crept forward, keeping to the shadows, our shoes sinking into damp grass. Halfway across, a motion light flared to life, flooding the space in harsh white.
We froze, every muscle locking tight.
“Don’t move,” Parker hissed.
