Tyler doesn’t break stride; he kicks his boot into it.
The wood cracks and the frame splinters.
He slams his boot into it again and the door explodes inward and smashes against the wall.
My mouth goes dry as I see seven ballerinas bound to chairs; some are conscious while others are not.
The ones that are conscious stare back at us with glassy eyes, dulled by blood loss and exhaustion.
Tyler is already at the nearest woman, cutting through her restraints. He glances back at me from across the room, and the moment our eyes meet, understanding fills them.
“Go,” he tells me.
I don’t argue. I turn and sprint back to the stage. The suspended ballerina still hangs above the floor, motionless except for the slight sway of her body. Above her, the cables creak.
My gaze lands on a control panel tucked near the wings.
I bolt for it and drive my hands into the controls.
The rigging begins to descend.
“Come on,” I whisper urgently.
The cables unwind.
The ballerina lowers onto the stage.
The moment her body meets the floor, I rush to her and drop to my knees beside her.
The impact jolts through me and will most likely bruise but I could care less.
My shivering hands find her shoulders.
Her skin feels far too cold.
I press two fingers against her neck.
For one horrible second, there’s nothing. Then, a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.
I bow my head and sag with relief.
“I got you.”
Tenderly, I slip one hand under her head.
Strands of hair hang around her face, tangled and matted. Her makeup has long since washed away, leaving dark streaks under sunken eyes. Her body is a patchwork of bruises and blood; worn down by everything she’s endured.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“Hey, stay with me. You’re okay. Do you hear me? You’re okay now.”
Her eyelids flutter and a ragged breath leaves her.
Then her lips move.
“Ca…”
I inch closer.
