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"Clear!" Came the call from the bedroom, and I mentally kicked myself for not making this escape quicker.
"Seems like overkill for little ol' me," I observed, watching their precise movements, the way they communicated without words.
"Are you alone?" The apparent leader eyed me with suspicion etched into his features like lines of age.
"Always," I answered, and it was the truest thing I'd said all day. Alone was something you got used to when your life was a revolving door of betrayal and loss. Alone was safe. Alone meant no more goodbyes.
"Search the place," he ordered, and I watched them tear through my apartment with detached interest. Each overturned cushion and opened drawer was another nail in the coffin of my former life.
"Should've asked for a search warrant first, sweet cheeks. You know, for formality's sake." My smirk didn't reach my eyes.
"Keep her talking," one whispered to another.
"Sure, let's chat. I’ve always wanted to be interrogated in my own home," I leaned against the wall. "You guys want coffee or something? Make yourselves at home."
"Ma'am, this is serious."
"Could've fooled me," I shot back, but inside, my mind raced. Time was slipping through my fingers, I needed a miracle. And miracles, as it turned out, were in short supply.
All at once I ducked under the swing of a fist aimed at my head and pivoted on the balls of my feet. The SWAT guy had bulk and body armor on his side. I had adrenaline and desperation - not always the best cocktail, but it got shit done.
"Come on, guys," I huffed and darted around another officer who thought he could corner me by the kitchenette. "Don't you have some drug lords to chase? I'm just a girl with an affinity for old memories and shitty apartments."
A grunt was my only reply as I grabbed a chair and flung it towards the advancing team. It clattered ineffectively off their shields, but it bought me precious seconds. Seconds where my mind worked overtime and conjured escape routes from a place that had none.
"Enough!" Barked someone who sounded like he enjoyed yelling at kids on his lawn. "Get her!"
"Creative," I muttered, eyeing the balcony door. I might've sneered at action movies for their ridiculous stunts, but I was about to pull one myself. A calculated risk or a desperate act of stupidity? Jury's still out.
"Freeze!"
"Can't! Hypothermia's a bitch!" Time slowed, my body already slamming into the glass door.
It shuddered but held.
Of course it fucking did.
My landlord couldn't fix a god damn leaking faucet, but this he reinforced?
An arm looped around mine and yanked me back. That was it; game over. But then...
"Let her go."
The voice cut through the chaos – low, authoritative, familiar. Ansel stood there, his presence like flipping the channel from a horror flick to a surreal drama. The SWAT guys looked at him, confused as hell.
Same.
"Ansel? What the?—"
"Run," He said, eyes dark and intense.
"What does it look like I've been doing? Fucking Pilates?" I struggled against the officer's grip.
"Sorry about this," Ansel told them, and what happened next was straight out of a psychedelic trip at Coachella. He smirked, and a green cloud escaped his mouth, snaking around the room like it had a mind of its own.
"Is that... weed?" I was dumbfounded as the smoke enveloped each team member and turned their eyes a shiny disco ball green. I mean, I heard of calming the enemy with kindness, but this was some next-level pacifist shit.
The SWAT members stood motionless and their eyes glinted emerald and vacant. I pulled away, free now, and stumbled towards Ansel. He steadied me with those strong arms that seemed capable of holding up the world.
