"Three."
The word was barely a breath, lost to the howling wind whipping across the Laurent roof, but to Ren, it sounded like a symphony's final crescendo.
He didn't think. For the first time in nineteen years, the "Golden Boy" didn't calculate the risks or look for his father's approval. He simply tightened his grip on Jace's hand and let go of the world.
The sensation was violent. The air rushed past his ears, a roar of cold wind that stole the oxygen from his lungs. For a split second, they were suspended in the dark, two shadows tangled together against a backdrop of stars. Ren's heart collided with his ribs, the sheer terror of the drop eclipsed only by the heat of Jace's palm against his.
CRASH.
They didn't hit the marble. They hit the massive, reinforced canvas of the catering tent set up for the gala's outdoor bar.
The fabric shrieked under their weight, acting like a giant, unforgiving trampoline. Ren felt the world spin—white canvas, dark sky, the smell of expensive gin and broken glass. They rolled, tumbling through a pyramid of crystal flutes, the sound of shattering glass ringing out like a thousand tiny bells.
They hit the grass hard, the breath knocked completely out of Ren's body.
"Ren! Ren, get up!" Jace's voice was a frantic rasp.
Jace was already on his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, his catering jacket shredded. He grabbed Ren by the waist, hauling him up just as the first flashlight beam cut across the lawn from the roof above.
"There! By the tent!" Arthur's voice screamed from the heights, sounding less like a father and more like a demon losing his prize. "Don't let them reach the gate!"
"Run," Jace hissed, his fingers digging into Ren's arm. "Don't look back, Ren. Run!"
They sprinted through the manicured rose bushes, the thorns tearing at Ren's dress slacks, his lungs burning with the sudden, frantic exertion. Behind them, the sounds of heavy boots and barking dogs began to fill the night. The Laurent estate, once a palace of silence, was now a war zone.
They reached the perimeter fence—ten feet of wrought iron topped with decorative, lethal spikes.
"I can't... Jace, I can't climb that!" Ren gasped, his legs shaking, his vision blurring from the adrenaline crash.
Jace didn't argue. He moved to the base of the fence, locking his fingers together to create a step. "Step up! Now! I'll throw you over!"
"What about you?"
"Just go! Move!"
Ren stepped into Jace's hands and felt the sheer, raw strength of the boy who had spent his life surviving. Jace launched him upward. Ren grabbed the cold iron, his palms stinging, and scrambled over the spikes, his shirt catching and tearing away a piece of silk as he tumbled to the dirt on the other side. The street. The outside world.
He scrambled to his feet, reaching his hands through the bars. "Jace! Give me your hand!"
Jace jumped, his fingers catching the horizontal bar, but as he started to haul himself up, a blinding spotlight hit the fence.
"Freeze! Stay where you are!"
A security guard, his holster unclipped, stood twenty feet away on the lawn, his red laser sight dancing across Jace's back.
Jace froze, hanging from the bars. He looked through the iron at Ren—at the boy he had traveled across a continent to save. He saw the freedom in Ren's eyes, the wild, terrified hope.
"Jace, please," Ren whispered, tears streaming down his face, his fingers inching through the bars to touch Jace's sleeve.
Jace looked at the guard, then back at Ren. A slow, heartbreaking smile spread across his face—the smile of a boy who knew exactly what his life was worth.
"Keep going, Ren," Jace whispered. "Go to the station. Find the man in the grey coat at the 'Red X' locker. He has the passport."
"Not without you! I'm not leaving without you!"
"You already left, Pookie," Jace said, his grip on the bars loosening as the guard moved closer. "You're free. Now run before I have to watch them break you again."
"Jace—"
"RUN!" Jace roared, just as the guard tackled him off the fence, slamming him into the dirt.
Ren let out a broken, jagged scream as he saw Jace's face hit the grass, his hands being wrenched behind his back into heavy steel cuffs. The last thing Ren saw before he turned into the darkness of the alley was Jace looking at him, mouthing two silent words through the bars:
Play on.