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“Up!”
We take the stairs two at a time.
Three flights.
Four.
Gunfire below us.
Closer.
Always closer.
“They’re right behind us!” Mila calls.
I turn mid-step, firing down the stairwell.
Two go down.
Not enough.
Never enough.
We burst through the top door—
And freeze.
Because we’re not outside.
We’re on the roof.
And we’re not alone.
A squad is already there.
Waiting.
Weapons up.
Trained on us.
“Drop it!” one of them shouts.
Yeah.
That’s not happening.
Mila shifts slightly in front of me.
I feel it.
That instinct.
That need to protect.
Same as mine.
Always the same.
