The grey, baggy trousers hung off me. I tightened them with a belt, threw on an oversized black T-shirt, and hurried out of the room.
It was odd that the Organisation hadn't come for us directly. I'd assumed, as always, they'd send a team and shuttle us under heavy guard.
As I shoved my feet into trainers a size too big, I said to Ashur, 'Strange they didn't send us protection.'
He gave a cold half-smile, checked the magazine of his gun, shoulder pressed to the wall. 'Protect who? Me? N—no one can protect me. You haven't worked that out yet?'
I stayed hunched over, watching him. He was right… I'd seen him kill dozens with his bare hands. Of course the Organisation trusted him—trusted what he could do.
I straightened. He was peering through a slit in the curtains. 'Then how did they arrest you? I mean the Triune Union. If you're that lethal, that professional… how did they manage it?'
He smiled—odd, unreadable—let the curtain fall, and turned to me, eyes fixed on mine. His voice came out cool and singular. 'Use your brain.'
I scoffed, heat pricking under my skin. The curtains were drawn tight; the only light was a small lamp by the sofa—and even that weak glow was enough to carve out the cold, frightening lines of his face.
'They got into one of your codes, didn't they?' I murmured, thinking aloud. 'Switched you off… so you couldn't defend yourself.'
He just stared. Something flickered in his eyes. A glint—like confirmation—that made one eyebrow lift in shock.
So I'd been right. The Triune Union had shut him down once. That was why, all those years he'd been locked away, Ashur hadn't tried to escape or kill anyone—except once. And that one time had been triggered by one of the Organisation's own. That mistake got him caught… and got Steven killed.
Now it made sense—why the doctor was tearing the world apart looking for an activation code: a genetic key to switch him back on.
He stepped towards me, as if to pass me, and I said, quietly, 'If I hadn't seen your neck bleeding, I'd have thought you were a robot or something. But you're human. Like me. Like everyone.'
I turned to face him. He was right beside me, expressionless, utterly calm.
'I don't know what they did to your brain to tie your life to a handful of stupid codes,' I said softly. 'I only know this: if you want to live, you have to get out of the Organisation. To them, you're just a toy.'
Without looking my way, his eyes pinned straight ahead, he murmured, voice gone arctic, 'Toys are nothing without their owner.'
I blinked, disbelieving. He bared a neat row of white teeth and eased the black door open. As he turned back to me, he whispered,
'Time to go.'
****
We couldn't risk the front entrance, so we slipped in through a neighbour's flat in the tower. When Ashur picked the lock and I stepped inside, I froze: an old woman sat on the sofa, knitting while a cat-and-dog cartoon chattered on the telly.
She blinked, stiffened, her mouth easing open in shock; but Ashur, still easing the pick free, lifted his gun and murmured, 'Shh.'
I limped forward, slowly, and—under the woman's wide stare—eased the curtain aside to check the view. We had no line of sight to the section the Organisation were watching. Good news; they had none on us either.
Ashur cracked the balcony door open. A small white cat padded out of the bedroom towards us and stared. I flicked a glance at the old woman; the colour had drained from her face and her hands were shaking.
I crouched, plucked a ball of wool from the basket on the coffee table and rolled it to the cat, then pointed, gently, back at the television. She drew a startled breath. I gave her a small nod.
'Come,' Ashur called softly.
I scooped a handful of chocolates from the dining table into my pocket and lobbed one towards the sofa. The woman flinched, then fixed her big brown eyes on the sweet. Her trembling hand reached out and took it.
I let a corner of my mouth lift and mouthed, 'Eat.'
I reckoned the fright had sent her blood pressure through the floor.
I headed for the balcony. Ashur was already hanging from the railing. 'Do we always have to do things the hard way?' I muttered, exasperated.
He dropped to the next flat's balcony, one floor down, landing in a crouch and scanning the edges. I watched him through the white railings as he straightened. I drew a breath, gripped the cold metal, and swung myself out. Pain spiked through my side; I squeezed my eyes shut, lips pressed hard together, and hung there for a moment before looking down.
Ashur waited below, still crouched. I breathed in—and let go.
Before my feet hit, strong arms locked around my waist and held me. Air stalled in my lungs. I turned into him; my forehead brushed his chest. He had me.
He set me down on the balcony tiles as if I were breakable and murmured, 'Don't ever—don't ever jump like that… you could—your legs—'
He turned, and when he saw my face that close, the words died. Those dark, glossy eyes pinned mine.
I blinked slowly. It felt like a three-second trance—and, stranger still, like he'd fallen into it with me.
His hands eased from my waist. Then, in a voice gone cool, he said, 'We need to move.'
The balcony door flew open. A tall young man stared and barked, 'What the f—'
Ashur drove the heel of his boot into the man's chest. He hit the floor on his back. Ashur raised his gun, ready to fire—
I surged in, shoved my hand in front of the barrel and snarled, 'What are you doing?'
I saw something in his eyes that made me feel no different from the dead. That look—God. He could kill civilians as easily as breathing.