"It is necessary."
She stares at me for a long moment.
And then she nods.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. Let's jump through a fucking window."
Despite everything—despite the pulsing crimson grid and the approaching footsteps and the absolute chaos of the situation—I feel my chest rumble.
Not a laugh.
A purr.
Deep and satisfied and absolutely feral.
"Hold on to me," I say.
She does not hesitate.
She steps into my space, her small frame pressing against my chest, her arms wrapping around my torso with desperate, trembling strength.
I sweep her up, cradling her against my body, tucking her head beneath my chin and shielding her with my sprawling, towering frames. My wings fold around us, creating a protective cocoon of leather and bone, the gold veins flaring incandescent as I activate every ounce of my four-hundred-pound physical mass.
And then I run.
The glass wall looms ahead.
Massive.
Imposing.
Reflecting the pulsing crimson light in jagged, distorted patterns.
I do not slow.
I do not hesitate.
I lower my shoulder and drive my full weight into the reinforced glass with brutal, explosive force.
The impact is catastrophic.
The initial crack is sharp—a high, piercing sound that cuts through the pulsing hum of the security grid. The triple-paned glass splinters outward from the point of impact, fracture lines spreading in rapid, chaotic patterns across the entire surface.
And then itshatters.
The explosion is deafening.
Glass shards erupt outward in a glittering, deadly cascade, raining down into the darkness below. The reinforced frame buckles under the force, the metal supports twisting and groaning as the entire wall gives way.
Cold air rushes in.
Violent.
Freezing.
