As the blood began to spill from his scalp, thin and vivid against the pale of his skin, panic rippled through the bar like a dropped match in dry grass. The shift in atmosphere was instant—electric, dangerous. Shouts rang out, chairs scraped back, glasses clinked in sudden stillness.
Then—movement.
Two, maybe three figures pushed through the crowd with reckless urgency, their eyes locked on the bleeding man. Friends, most likely. The kind who didn't ask questions before throwing punches. The kind who lived for trouble.
And they were heading straight for us.
Alice didn't flinch.
Not as the man slumped forward, not as the panic rose like smoke around us. Her eyes never left the guy's bleeding scalp, like she was daring him to move again.
But I saw them—the ones pushing through the crowd. Broad shoulders, clenched jaws, eyes full of violence. No hesitation. Just momentum.
I rose to my feet, heart hammering against my ribs, body moving before my brain could catch up. One of them was already close, shoving someone aside with a snarl.
"Alice," I said under my breath. "Time to go."
She didn't look at me. Didn't need to. She was already moving, graceful in a way that felt practiced, deliberate. Like she'd done this before.
The first guy lunged—not toward her, but me.
Fist. Incoming. Fast.
I ducked.
His arm swung wide, crashing into the back of a barstool. He cursed, turned to swing again, but my instincts kicked in before he could reset. I drove my shoulder into his chest, sent him stumbling into a table.
"Go!" I barked, grabbing Alice's wrist.
She didn't argue.
We ran.
The crowd opened like a wound, screams and curses filling the air. Behind us, footsteps pounded, heavy and relentless. The exit loomed through a mess of bodies and smoke. Almost there.
Almost.
A hand grabbed my shoulder—tight, punishing.
But before I could react, Alice twisted back, her elbow connecting hard with the guy's jaw. He reeled. I caught his balance and shoved, sending him crashing into the wall of a booth.
But it wasn't the end.
I burst through the door like the night itself was on our heels, panic clawing its way up my throat. The cold hit hard, slicing through the heat of the bar, but I barely felt it. All I could hear was the pounding in my ears, the chaos behind us, the blur of motion as we ran.
I didn't know where to go.
Didn't remember the streets, the alleys, the way out of this mess.
Which way now? I murmured, breath ragged, eyes darting like a trapped animal. We were getting cornered, the walls of the city pressing in from every side. I turned, ready to run again—
"If you don't know the way," Alice snapped, her voice like a whip, "don't go dragging someone with you, idiot!"
And then—her hand on my wrist. Firm. Unshaking. She yanked me forward, past the hesitation, past the fear, past myself.
She didn't wait for me to follow.
And I didn't need to.
I didn't know where she was going, didn't care. Because something about it—this moment, this wild escape, her fingers wrapped around mine— it felt familiar.
Like the first time we met.
Strangely comfortable, even now, even in the middle of everything falling apart
We ended up in an empty, dark alleyway.
I could barely see a thing—shadows piled on shadows, the air thick with damp and silence—but Alice moved like she knew every crack in the pavement, every twist in the dark. Like the night was hers.
She didn't slow down. Not once.
I stumbled behind her, heart still hammering, lungs burning. The noise from the street faded behind us, swallowed by the narrow walls and heavy dark.
And then—we stopped.
At the end of the alley, half-hidden behind rusted pipes and old brick, a staircase curled upward into the shadows above.
Alice turned, her hand still around my wrist, eyes catching what little light there was. "What are you waiting for?" she said, voice low but steady. "Let's climb."
Before I could answer, she was pulling me again—up the steps, away from the chaos, higher into the unknown.
I didn't ask where we were going.
I just followed.
Because somehow, despite everything—despite the blood, the fear, the silence—we were still moving forward.
The stairs creaked under our weight, each step swallowed by the hush of the night. The city's noise faded behind us, replaced by the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional flicker of neon light spilling through alley cracks.
Then—open air.
We emerged onto the rooftop, the cold wind hitting my face like a sudden exhale. The sky stretched out above, dark and endless, stars barely piercing through the city haze. Below us, the world kept moving—cars crawling, people shouting, lights flashing—but up here, everything felt still.
Alice let go of my wrist.
She walked to the edge, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of a streetlamp down below. Her shoulders rose and fell in a slow breath. Not tired—controlled. Always.
I stayed where I was, trying to catch my breath, not just from the run… but from everything.
"I didn't know where to go," I said quietly, the words falling out before I could stop them. "I just… panicked."
"I noticed." Her voice wasn't cold. Just matter-of-fact. A statement, not a dagger.
Silence settled between us again. Heavy, but not unbearable.
She turned, finally meeting my eyes. "You always do that," she said. "Run first. Think later."
I flinched, not because she was wrong, but because she was right in a way only she could be.
"I know," I muttered. "It's just… when everything starts falling apart, I don't think. I just move."
Alice nodded slowly, stepping closer. "Yeah. And you never look back."
That one hurt more than I expected.
I looked down at my hands—still shaking, not from fear, but from something deeper. Something older.
"I didn't mean to drag you into it," I whispered. "Any of it."
Alice stared at me, and for a long moment, she didn't say anything.
Then she spoke, softer than before. "But you did."
The wind picked up, tugging at her hair, lifting it just enough to reveal the tiredness hiding behind her eyes. Not exhaustion. Something heavier. Worn.
"But," she said, after a moment, "you also stopped running."
I looked up.
And she was close—close enough that I could see the faint bruise blooming on her knuckles from where the bottle had shattered.
"I guess that's something," she added, almost like a shrug, but her voice gave her away.
It meant more.
So I nodded, the weight in my chest shifting—not gone, but moved. Shared.
Maybe, for once, that was enough.