Alex:
The blue lights bleed across the alley like veins of ice.
Run.
Luke’s voice is a low, sharp blade in my ear, cutting through the static in my skull. Run, Alex. Now.
There’s no room for thought. Only muscle memory, only instinct.
I scoop the gun from the asphalt, shove it deep into the inside pocket of my leather jacket, the weight of it a sudden heart against my ribs. My bike snarls when I thumb the starter, a single defiant growl.
Luke is already turning away, his shoulders squared, body a wall between me and the coming storm.
I don’t look back.
The throttle bites, and I tear out of the alley into streets slick with cold night air. The city’s neon blurs into a smear of wet color. I open the engine until it screams.
Every cell in me vibrates with the aftershock of those two
