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“Do it,” I mutter under my breath.

For Sasha.

With that firmly in my brain and heart, I run to the nearest trees in the dark, and then I drop behind a bush.

Just as footsteps round a corner.

The guard doesn’t wait. I think he’s doing rounds, so I stay where I am, as small as I can, and wait until he passes.

This must mean I have a few minutes, so I just get up and run, stumbling, rocks biting into my feet as I race through the foliage and across in the cool dark of the garden’s growth. The back wall isn’t watched, I don’t think, and it’s low, so I try and climb it, skinning my hands and knees as I go. But I’m not strong enough.

The tears push at me, and I fight back a sob. No, I’m not going down so close. I look around. The tree nearest the wall is low, so I climb that, edging along the lower limb until I can get to the wall. Then I fling myself over, narrowly missing an old bike and hitting a bush instead.

I again look around. The house is dark, and I realize with horror this must be part of the property. Perhaps for guardsor staff. But I don’t stop. I get up and run, stumbling, sticking to the shadows until I hit another wall. It’s not that high, and I go for it, right before I see the wire. And hear the buzz. Shit.

Electric.

“No.” I hurry along the edge until I reach the side. There’s a normal gate and it’s not powered. Clearly, there are usually guards here, too. And… I gulp.

There’s one right now, but he’s on the phone, and he’s at the front facing the street and the opposite direction, so I take a chance and run low, not stopping until I hit the side street. Then I dart in a zigzag, passing big properties, trying to avoid the lights.

I stop about three streets away.

Fuck, I don’t know where I am.

Voices rise up from somewhere behind me and I’m terrified I’ve been discovered. I sink low, but no one comes closer. Staying low, I keep moving until I round another corner.

Panic blooms as a roar fills my ears.

Wait, I know the sound. The freeway. I run toward it. And the area becomes dirtier, barer until I’m near the freeway and bright, garish lights beckon.

A gas station.

I scurry up to it, right as a car pulls out and I flag it down, not wanting to go into the station and risk being on camera.

The driver stops and rolls down her window. “Honey, what happened?”

“Please, help.”

The man with her throws open the back door. “Sit,” he says, “we’ll call the police. I’m George and this is Gwen, my wife.”

I hover, knowing I need to get in, but too scared. Scared of them taking me to the cops. Scared of somethinghappening to them because of me. Scared of Demyan’s soldiers turning up and dragging me off. Just scared.

The woman, Gwen, gets out and hurries around. They’re older than me, maybe in their forties, but she’s got kind eyes as does her husband, and when she carefully tells me she’s going to help me, that she’s going to touch me, something crumbles inside.

“We’re just going to help,” she says, repeating herself. “And I’m going to help you. I’m going to slide an arm around your waist and help you to the car.” Her gaze drops. “Your feet are bare, hon. And you look like you’re going to fall over. So you can just sit, door open, and we’ll call the cops.”

“No.” That threat snaps me out of my fear-soaked gaze and sets the adrenaline pumping. “No police.”

“Something’s clearly happened,” Gwen says. “We’ll wait with you?—”

“No.” I stop, forcing myself to breathe normally, and I try again. “I can’t risk the police. I-I have a son, and if they go after his father, then…” I swallow and grip her arm. “He’s rich and he’ll take him. Please… I just need this to go away. I need to get home to my boy and my friend.”

I’m hoping she can read between the lines. See what I’m trying to say.

“He doesn’t know?”

“No.”