Page 107 of Unspoken

One foot, then the other. One foot, then the other. Keep going, Sasha. Keep going.

At the top, I haul myself over the lip of the escalator, legs quivering. The labyrinthine expanse of the second floor unfurls before me, a maze of empty rooms. I plunge forward, darting through the skeletal remains of abandoned displays.

A stairwell comes into view, its door hanging drunkenly from rusted hinges. I shoulder it open, the metal screechingin protest. The stairs spiral upward, a dizzying ascent into the unknown.

I take them two at a time, lungs searing, thighs screaming. The approaching pounding of footsteps below pushes me higher.Faster. Don't look down.

At the top, another door. I crash through it, stumbling onto the roof. The wind whips across the surface, tugging at my hair, my clothes. I reel, momentarily disoriented.

"Stoy! Ti, pridurok! Stoy! Ya komy skazal!"

The command cuts through the air like a whip crack. I start moving again, running across the roof. Forward. No destination in mind. Just away from the voice.

"Stoy, suka!"

I spin around, heart lodged in my throat. A figure stands in the doorway. He has a gun.

I back away, feet shuffling toward the edge of the roof. The unforgiving concrete rim presses against the backs of my knees. I chance a glance behind me. The neighboring building is just out of reach, an impossible vacuum between me and it.

I look back at my pursuer, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage. The muzzle of his gun stares back, a one-eyed monster hungry for blood. My blood.

Trapped. The word ricochets through my mind. I have nowhere to run anymore, nowhere to hide. This is it. The end of the line.

Immediately, a flicker of defiance sparks to life in my chest. No. I won't let it end like this. I'm a Solovey, dammit. We don't give up. Not ever. Probably the only useful trait I inherited from my father.

I turn.

Then steel myself, drawing in a shuddering breath. My gaze locks onto the opposing rooftop, gauging the distance. It's far. Too far. But what choice do I have?

Doubt coils in my gut, insidious and cold. Can I make it? Am I strong enough? The questions batter against my resolve, threatening to crumble it to dust.

No. I clench my jaw, banishing the whispers of uncertainty. I have to try. For me. For Mama. For Logan.

I close my eyes and sucking in one final lungful of dry air, I leap.

CHAPTER 37

LOGAN

The tires of our SUV screech to a halt outside the ramshackle diner somewhere off 169. Just like Sasha said over the phone. I leap out from the back seat and into a cloud of dust with my heart pounding a desperate rhythm against my ribs. I rush toward the weathered glass door, Ivan with Vlad's men on my heels.

Inside, the mid-century decor is faded and worn, the linoleum cracked, the booths patched with duct tape. The sickly yellow light flickers overhead. My eyes dart around the mostly empty room, searching for a flash of blond hair and a pair of green eyes. Nothing.

I stride to the counter, where two workers in white and red shirts are gazing at me. I’m not sure who is more panicked now—them or me. I notice shards of glass on the floor and across the counter. A broom stands in the corner. As if someone was working to clean that up but hid when we approached.

I try to keep the rising dread from my voice. "I'm looking for a young man. Six feet, blond undercut, green eyes. Skinny. Have you seen him?"

The girl behind the register, no more than nineteen, looks at me warily. "If you’re going to break something, mister, you need to pay," she squeals, reaching for a spoon behind the counter.

"Not going to break anything," I state. "He called me earlier to pick him up."

"Yeah, he was here..." the girl’s co-worker—the gangly teenage boy—speaks up.

The door swings behind me and a little bell above it announces the arrival of another person. I catch a glimpse of Vlad's imposing figure in my peripheral vision. The girl's gaze flicks to him nervously.

"Where’s he?" I ask.

"He left," the girl says quickly, her voice trembling slightly. She’s holding on to the spoon like it’s her lifeline.

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