Page 112 of Icarus

“You okay?”

Helios’s face was ashen, but he nodded.

Icarus pulled a large pair of bolt cutters from his backpack, hooked them around the remaining metal, and took a steadying breath.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Helios said. “So serious.”

“We can talk about that later.” Icarus was too scared to enjoy it.

He sent up another quick prayer, gripped the handles, and forced the bolt cutter shut with all his might. The last piece of steel gave way—and immediately the room filled with a terrible sound. The cuff was alarmed, as he’d known it would be. But that didn’t matter. They didn’t have the luxury of stealth. They were getting out of here now.

Icarus wrenched the closet door open and sprinted across the room. He skidded halfway, reared back and threw the bolt cutters toward the window. The glass exploded outward and the bolt cutters sailed into the night. Without hesitating, Icarus whipped the blaring restraint straight through the brand-new hole.

They both listened as the alarm got farther and farther away, until they heard the cuff bounce on the ground outside.

But the noise didn’t stop. Far away, elsewhere in the house, there was another alarm. And with it, the sound of footsteps.

“We have to go. Laundry closet on the third floor with that platform we sat on when I came over before homecoming. We’re rappelling off the roof,” Icarus said. He grabbed the harness and pushed it into Helios’s arms, thanking god that it was lightweight.

Orion

Icarus pulled out his baton, zipped his bag, and threw it over his shoulder, and then yanked open the door.

Mr. Black was charging up the stairs on one side of the mezzanine, but there was another set of stairs on the other side. Icarus looked back in the room and Helios had the harness half on. Helios was visibly terrified and still moving way too slow.

They weren’t going to make it.

“We have to get to the roof,” Icarus said urgently.

“I’ll catch up,” Helios promised. “I know where I’m going.”

Icarus trusted him.

“Angus! Get out of my house!” Faster than Icarus had thought, Mr. Black was on the second floor. Icarus shook out his baton, then turned and ran.

He could feel Mr. Black catching up to him, before the noise of it really reached his ears. Mr. Black yanked Icarus back by one of his backpack straps and kicked him behind the knee.

Icarus fell forward hard and coughed the air out of his lungs in a wheeze.

Helios’s father slammed his hand over Icarus’s throat and lifted him up.

“You’re going to fucking prison, you little rat.”

Icarus scrunched his legs up and stomped Mr. Black in the chest. Mr. Black’s nails scratched his neck, scrabbling for him, and Icarus shouted in pain. As Mr. Black fell backward, startled, his face darkened again.

Over his shoulder, Icarus saw Helios making his way to the other staircase. He was still too slow. Icarus had to buy him time.

“You can’t keep him in here, you psychopath!” he shouted, hoping it was the right thing to say.

Mr. Black lunged at him, singularly focused on violence. Icarus blocked his hands with lashes of the baton, just barely managing to keep himself unscathed. Good fucking Christ, was this what Helios had been locked up with for the past few months?

Angus had said Mr. Black was athletic, but he hadn’t said anything about this. Icarus had stupidly assumed that he’d meant back when they were in school, not as a permanent feature.

Icarus was a thief. He wasn’t a fighter. He left an opening and Mr. Black got lucky.

He slammed his fist into Icarus’s side and snatched the baton out of his hand, hurling it over the edge of the balcony.

Icarus sank to his knees and heaved as his mouth filled with acid.