I grabbed the unconscious omega off the floor and I jumped.
I know what you are thinking: jumping from the third floor? No way I survived that.
You would be right, of course, if the neighbor's balcony didn't have laundry hanging out to air on a thick rope.
Pure luck.
Until I looked down. Ten black vans full of people armed up to the teeth are entering the building.
Damian was completely out—head slumped against my shoulder, curls sticking to the sweat on my neck. His face looked unnervingly peaceful, which somehow made it worse. His skin, always pale, had taken on that too-still quality, like the life in him had just stepped out for a moment and hadn't quite decided whether to return.
I had one arm wrapped tight around him, keeping his limp body from slipping. The other gripped the rope, my fingers screaming. The burn had started minutes ago, but now it was numb—just pressure and instinct, my hand fused to the line like letting go wasn't even an option.
