If it were my sister, I would feel the same.
Eames reaches out and takes hold of my forearm. It isn’t a friendly grip. “Promise me,” he says, every word fierce. “Promise me you don’t mean my sister any harm.”
It’s been a long time since anyone touched me. And while this touch isn’t affectionate, it still sends a jolt of sensation through me. There are calluses at the tips of his fingers. He has worn hands—and somehow, that makes him more real. He has a life, a history, a world outside of this dangerous moment.
I cover his left hand with my own.
“Eames,” I say. “I’ll die before I let anyone hurt her.”
He jerks back, releasing my arm. Perhaps it’s the touch that surprises him, or the utter honesty in my voice.
I am not a good person. But therearegood people in the world. The least I can do is try to keep them safe.
“Okay,” he says, stepping back. Then he repeats the word, as though to himself. “Okay.”
I reach up to touch my visor, making sure it’s set to the deepest opaque. It’s not quite a mask, but hopefully it will obscure enough of my features that Nonna won’t know me on sight. Because if she does… I don’t know what will happen to me. I don’t know what will happen to her.
I won’t let anything happen to her.
I retrieve my backpack from the apartment, giving the VA one last glare. “Come on,” I whisper to Piper. She follows me out onto the balcony, carefully stepping over the glass.
It’s a bit of a squeeze—three people on the concrete balcony.
I take hold of the railing. A summer breeze brushes my cheeks and neck, tasting of distant Douglas fir and warm grasses. I inhale twice before I feel steady enough to move.
It is perhaps five feet from my balcony to Nonna’s. It isn’t a long jump, not truly. But the distance is all the wider for the three-story drop. I carefully angle myself up and over the railing. My palms begin to sweat.
I have fallen from higher places.
But some things don’t get easier with practice.
I jump before I can stop myself. For a heartbeat, it feels as though I am flying. Then, gravity seizes me. My momentum slows. Far below me, I see sidewalks and mown grass.
My palms slam into the railing of Nonna’s balcony. I wrap my fingers around the metal as tightly as I can, but one hand slips. Gritting my teeth hard, I cling even tighter with my other hand. My ribs and back will protest all of this tomorrow, but for now I have adrenaline to keep any pain at bay.
I haul myself up and over, landing awkwardly on Nonna’s balcony. Heart hammering, dizzy with relief and the near fall, I turn back toward Eames. He has Piper around the waist. She looks like a cat that thoroughly dislikes being picked up: She’s curling in on herself and scowling.
I hold out my arms. Eames grimaces, clearly hating the idea, but he nods. And then he tosses his sister as far as he can.
I seize her—one hand around her arm and the othersnagging on her bathing suit strap. My stomach thuds against the railing as the kid’s full weight drags me downward.
Agony tears through my left shoulder. My spine screams a warning and I squeeze my eyes shut, all the breath leaving my lungs. But I don’t let go. I won’t—not even if I’m pulled over, too.
With a gasp, I yank Piper upward. Her free hand fastens around the railing and her bare toes scrabble as she pulls herself up and over.
Eames nimbly steps over the railing without hesitating. With his long legs, it’s less of a jump and more of a hop to get onto Nonna’s balcony.
We’re safe—for the moment. “Come on,” I whisper. I peer through the glass door.
The apartment is dark, sunlight reflecting off the glass. I can’t see much beyond the living room. If Nonna is out, I might be able to slip into her apartment with no one the wiser. I really, really hope she went to the Saturday farmers market. Maybe she’s browsing locally sourced hazelnuts and tomatoes.
My fingers curl around the door handle. It’s only as I pull that I realize it’s probably locked, just like the rest of the building—
It comes open easily.
“How?” whispers Eames.
I feel a wave of affection for my nonna who remembers a time before cell phones, before social media, before the dawn of the information age. And she has stubbornly clung to it with the tenacity of a dog with a bone. I remember herfront door with its physical lock. She must not have taken any smart upgrades at all.
