Ava’s POV:
The hand on my wrist is not Julian’s.
That is the first thing my body registers. The second is pressure. Not violent, but firm enough to stop forward motion. Enough to remind me that nothing here is accidental.
I twist, instinct taking over. My elbow catches someone’s ribs. A sharp exhale follows. The grip loosens.
“Now,” Julian says again, closer, urgent.
I break free and move.
The room is chaotic. Red emergency lights strobe against faces that no longer bother hiding their fear. Someone shouts my name. Someone else shouts an order that no one follows.
Julian’s hand closes around mine. It was solid and certain.
We run. Not blindly. He knows exactly where he’s going. We cut through the side door I didn’t even know existed, down a narrow corridor that smells like metal an
