“They heard the gunfire, and two guards are trying to move her. Move!” Noah yells into my ear.
I shoot a look at Jace, and we take off running, hopping over the guards lying in a heap on the floor.
“Take a left, they should be ahead of you.”
We turn, and Isee them.
Two large men stand at the end of the hallway. A small form is on the ground that one guy is trying to pick up.
“Pick her up!” The guy on the left yells.
“You pick her up! She’s like dead weight!” the other barks back.
The words steal the air right out of my lungs.
Isobel’s head falls, her hair is greasy and tangled, with ash brown roots grown out against the black. Her arms hang useless at her sides. She barely looks alive.
“STOP!” I roar.
Both men jolt, startled, and Isobel slips from their grip and drops again. Her body doesn’t even try to catch itself. The guard on the left grabs a pistol from his waistband and shoots.
“Take cover!” Jace shoves me as a bullet whizzes by me.
Jace moves to the other side of the hallway as the gunfire explodes, ripping drywall around us. I lean out just enough to catch sight of the second guard dragging Isobel by her arms, her heels bouncing limp against the floor as he hauls her around the corner.
“ISOBEL!” Her name tears out of me.
I fire two controlled bursts down the hall, forcing one to duck back. Jace covers me, rounds smacking into the wall.
Reload. Rack. Breathe.
I steady the rifle against my shoulder and line up with the far end of the corridor.
“Left, now!” Jace snaps.
I pivot just as the first guard pops out again. My shot hits his shoulder, and he spins back with a cry, his weapon clattering to the ground.
The other guard is trying to drag Isobel past the doorway again, but he’s slow. I get a clear angle and take it.
The bullet embeds itself into his shoulder; he swears and scrambles back, pressing his hand to the wound.
I’m moving before the guard can even finish falling, boots hammering the tile, vision tunneling to the girl in the shredded shirt.
“Luca—wait!” Jace calls, somewhere behind me.
Fuck that.
I’m sliding across the floor to her as the men retreat. Jace forces them back with his shots.
“Isobel, Iz, wake up!” I pull her into my arms, rolling her gently onto her back.
Up close, she barely resembles the Isobel I remember. She doesn’t even look human.
Her skin is pale, almost translucent, with a gray cast to it that makes me wonder if it’s her actual skin. It’s stretched tightly over her bones. Her cheeks are hollow, sunken in so much that her cheekbones look like they could cut someone.
Her lips are cracked, raw, the bottom split open in the center. Dried blood gathers in the grooves. When she breathes, the smallest flake of it lifts and settles again.
Her eyes are barely slits—swollen, bruised, rimmed in red and purple. One is nearly closed from a hit that must’ve landed hard. When they open a fraction, her pupils are unfocused, just drifting in her head. The exhaustion etched so deeply into her I’m not sure how she’s conscious at all.
