. . . and spring so far I let out the most high-pitched sound I’ve ever shrieked in my life. I don’t jump over the gap so much as bounce over it, flying through the air like one of Remi’s woven birds, and I land well past the edge of the next roof. I overbalance and catch myself on the heels of my scabbed hands, then scrabble out of the way to watch the others make their own landings. Jaesin, jock that he is, lands like a superhero, and I half expect rocks to float skyward around him as the ground cracks at his feet or something. Ania, on the other hand, tumbles into a scraped-up heap, her curls flopping over her face. Remi comes last, and I catch them as they nearly land on top of me.
“You’re a genius!” I shout, still clutching their forearms.
“About to be a dead genius. They still have guns!” Remi grabs my hand and drags me down as bullets whiz over our heads, splitting the early morning silence with their loud cracks. We run hunched over, making ourselves smaller targets, until we can put on some speed and leap to the next building over, and the next. Shouting drifts from the streets below us at first, but that’s fine, because the gunshots have long faded into the distance.
The sound of the speeder jets closing in provides a whole new problem.
“Any new ideas?” I shout to the group as the tiny dots in the distance roar closer.
“We need to get off these rooftops!” Ania shouts back, her long legs eating up the distance much better than my short stubby ones.
Jaesin points at the next building ahead of us. “Aim for the fire escape instead of the roof! We can run down and try to lose them in the alleys.”
“And I guess we just hope they’ve called off the ground search,” I mutter, but do as he says. I spring off the rooftop and grab for the railing of the fire escape, and my stomach lurches as the whole thing shudders and leans. Jaesin and Ania are already running down by the time I manage to haul myself up, just in time to see Remi run for the edge and leap . . . but it’s going to be too short, they didn’t push hard enough, or the maz is starting to wear off, and they flail in the air in what feels like slow motion, nowhere near the fire escape, nowhere near enough for me to reach out and grab them. Their eyes go wide, and we lock gazes.
“No!” I shout, arms outstretched as they begin to fall, fall, fall. . . .
Far below, a bright golden glow flares out, and I race down the rickety fire-escape stairs, barely landing my footing before flinging myself over the railing of the next set. My breath burns in my lungs, strangling my heart. They have to be okay, I will never forgive myself if Remi . . . if they . . .
On the street below, Remi lies sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo and head lolled to one side.
And laughing?
As I near the ground level, I see the faint glow of light between them and the ground, a cloud of maz cushioning them. I collapse with a hard exhale, the cold concrete biting into my knees as the neon lights of the city burn themselves permanently into my retinas.
They’re fine.
Everything is fine.
I reach out, feeling for their hand on the ground beside me and letting my fingers dig into the pulse point at their wrist.
“I’m fine, Dizzy, I’m fine,” they insist, but their breathing is shaky, and their fingers feel for and catch mine, squeezing tight.
“We’re not out of this yet, you two,” Ania says, tugging at Jaesin’s hand. “They’ll know we went to street level. They’ll mobilize the ground crew again, have this place flooded with officers in two minutes. We need a new plan.”
Why does it feel like we’re doing nothing but running, running, running these days? We’ve had our fair share of jobs over the years that ended with us fleeing the tunnels, but . . .
I have an idea.
“They know we’re at street level,” I say, pushing to my feet and gingerly pulling Remi up with me. “But I bet they won’t expect us to go underground.”
“No, they’d never expect us to go back to where we committed all of the crimes they’re after us for,” Ania says sarcastically, but Remi shakes their head.
“No, I think she’s right,” they say, squeezing my hand. “They’re not expecting it. I’ll send a few diversionary spells down a side street, make them think we’re still on ground level. Diz can disable the security in the tunnels and I can keep a feel out for any maz trouble.”
“Sounds like that’s our plan, then,” Jaesin says, pushing gently at Ania’s shoulder until she starts running again. “I’m not hearing any other ideas, and this one makes sense. Probably.”
Ania sighs as I bring up a map on my lenses, splitting my attention as best I can between guiding us and not breaking my ankle while I run. “Okay, there’s an access six blocks from here. Follow me.”
As we jog, Remi begins to spin something into being, whispering to themself as they do. First formaz, to provide shape and structure, then motaz, adding motion, then another, and another. At some point they glance up at Ania, who promptly raises a hand and threads more magnaz into the spell when Remi’s stash starts to run thin. Finally, the last strand pulls taut, and the spell takes the form of a little golden bird that wriggles and struggles in Remi’s grasp. At the next intersection, Remi hurls it down a perpendicular street, then quickly spins a lasso of darker obscuraz around our heads. Shouts and a crash erupt from the direction of the maz bird, so I pick up speed and lead us in the opposite direction, taking a roundabout route to the access point.
We stick to the shadows and back alleys as much as possible, casually strolling across intersections when we can’t, Remi weaving as many birds as they can. The roar of the speeders and shouts of the police fade far into the distance, as they presumably track Remi’s birds instead of us. Just as we reach the access point, Remi winces.
“They’ve caught all the birds,” they say. “We’re out of time.”
“That’s fine, we’re almost home free,” I reply as I run my usual intrusion routine on the tunnel access door.
And I’m promptly iced out.
“Shit,” I say. “Shit, shit!” It’s all the eloquence I can muster. I forgot I told Davon about all the holes in their system, thinking we’d never be doing this ever again. He’s probably already implemented some initial security patches. This is going to be much harder than last time.
“They changed their security protocols,” I say, digging into one cargo pocket for my cables. “I gotta hardwire in. Sorry, everyone.”
“Not your fault,” Remi says. “You got this.”
It is my fault, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway. I take a breath and let their words settle in my chest, try to believe them. I’ve done this a hundred times. The cops are nowhere near us right now. We’ll be fine. Remi will be fine. And after all this, after everything, they still believe in me.
I have this.
I pull my multitool from my pocket and pry the panel off the security system with the flat-head screwdriver attachment, exposing the wiring. There’s a specific data cable I need, usually—yes, solid black with a white line up the center. I snip it in half and strip one end to expose the tiny wires within, then twine them together with the bare end of my own cable. I don’t have my soldering iron with me to really secure the contact, but I pull a small roll of black electrical tape from another pocket and tear a strip off with my teeth, wrapping it securely around the join. The other end plugs straight into my deck, and my diagnostic program automatically detects the new input and brings up a command prompt.