"Ambush!" Drop shouts, the chains around my wrists jerking tighter in response.

  The world spins into chaos, everything happening at once. I hear Tasha's voice, tinny and worried. "Police are en route, five minutes out. Is Sam okay?"

  I can't answer without giving away that I'm in communication with my team. But I don't need to - Blink's marble hits its mark again, striking Drop's other hand with enough force to make her yelp. The chains stay tight, though, despite her momentary distraction. Whatever her power is, it doesn't require constant concentration.

  "A little tied up at the moment," Maggie jokes, which lets me helpfully disguise my groan of annoyance as a groan of pain.

  "Get down!" Marathon barks to his crew. Brass Knuckles and Refrigerator Guy immediately crouch, scanning the surroundings with wide eyes. Bat Guy, cradling his injured arm, peeks around the doorframe.

  "Shooter on the roof!" Fridge Guy shouts, pointing across the street.

  Marathon's head snaps in that direction, but I can tell he doesn't see anything clearly. Blink's too good at concealment.

  "Who the fuck else is out there?" Marathon shouts, grabbing a metal chair and holding it like a shield. "Show yourself!"

  A sharp crack - like a gunshot - echoes from somewhere to our left. Everyone flinches, including me. That wasn't Blink's slingshot; she's on the rooftop to our right, and I've never heard her ping a marble fast enough to make a gunshot sound. My heart rate spikes. Do my teammates have guns? They shouldn't. And Maggie and Sundial didn't come from that direction anyway.

  "That's not us?" I hear Maggie whisper through my earpiece, sounding as confused as I feel.

  "Hold on," Gossamer says. "Everyone chill out."

  Drop yanks me closer, positioning me between her and the unknown threat. The chains around my throat tighten just enough to make breathing difficult. My blood sense is racing, trying to map everyone around me through microcuts and scrapes, but there's too much happening, too much to process.

  "Hey!" Marathon yells into the darkness. "Whoever's shooting - if you don't want your little wolf-girl turned into lunch at the wet mart, you better stop shooting! Stop, right now!"

  I feel a surge of rage at the comment, but stay focused. The chains are cutting into my wrists, and I can feel blood trickling down my palms. Drop is squeezing me. "We're keeping it hostage," she says, almost more to herself than anyone else.

  Another crack - definitely from our left. Not Blink. It's coming from a different direction entirely. Someone else is out there. But who?

  "Police ETA three minutes," Tasha says in my ear, her voice steady despite the situation. "Maggie and Sundial are circling back."

  I need to buy time. I need to keep them talking.

  "So, uh, Drop, right?" I say, keeping my voice casual despite the pressure on my throat. "Cool chains. Hot Topic having a sale?"

  "Shut up," she hisses, tightening her grip. "Stop trying to distract me."

  I wince but keep talking. "Just saying, the whole goth metal vibe is a little 2009, don't you think? Might want to update--"

  The chain around my neck constricts further, cutting off my words. Message received.

  "I've got movement on the west side," Brass Knuckles says, his voice tight with tension.

  "And east," Fridge Guy adds, his reflexes clearly on high alert as his head swivels toward every sound.

  I try growing teeth underneath my costume where the chains are wrapped around my wrists. It's a desperate move, but maybe I can create enough pressure to loosen her grip. The teeth emerge through my skin, pushing against the inside of the fabric, then against the metal links. Just like with Aaron. If I push them out enough, I can--

  Pain shoots up my arms as the chains simply crush the emerging teeth, forcing them back into my flesh, grinding them down into dust. I grit my teeth, swallowing a cry. Okay, that was a bad idea. Cross that off the list of escape options. Turns out that there's not enough force there. Ow. Ow.

  Another crack - louder this time. And another marble from Blink strikes Bat Guy in the shoulder as he peers around the doorway. He yelps, ducking back inside.

  "We're surrounded," Drop says, her voice tight with what sounds like paranoia. "They've got us from multiple angles."

  "It's just the kids," Marathon insists, though he doesn't sound sure. "Just the fucking brats from earlier."

  "Then why are there gunshots?" she demands. "You kids got guns?"

  "How the fuck would I--" I start.

  Drop tightens the chain again, cutting me off. "I said shut up."

  I try to focus on breathing through my nose, conserving oxygen, trying not to point out that she just asked me a question.. My vision is starting to get spotty around the edges. Not good. The chains aren't tight enough to strangle me - not yet - but they're definitely restricting blood flow. It's almost pleasant, in a weird way. I feel the thoughts getting sanded off the edges of my brain.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Approaching from south side," Maggie's voice whispers in my ear. "Sundial with me."

  "I'm in position," Gossamer says. What?

  "Goss? You're on medic, what are you--" I hear Blink say, which is just about what I'm thinking at the same time.

  Another crack, and this time a flash of movement catches my eye. Something long and thin whips through the air near the abandoned pumps, too fast to track properly, but definitely enough to catch attention. Like when you see a snake in the grass.

  Marathon suddenly pulls out a phone - not a smartphone, one of those cheap burner flip phones - and barks into it: "We need extraction. Now. East side." He pauses, listening. "No, now. Right fucking now."

  Drop's grip on me shifts, and I can feel her tension rising. "You said this was a simple operation," she hisses at Marathon. "Low risk."

  "It was," he snaps back. "Until your noisy ass showed up."

  Interesting. So they're not regular partners. More like... what, colleagues? People who work for the same organization but don't usually team up? I try to file this away, but feel the little version of me in my brain's filing room fumbling with the documents. Oh man, it's getting hard to think.

  A shadow moves at the edge of my vision - Maggie and Sundial, creeping along the perimeter of the lot. They're staying low, using the abandoned gas pumps for cover. Smart. But Drop seems to sense something, her head turning in their direction though they're not visible from our angle.

  "We've got company," she says, her voice tightening. "A lot of company."

  "I don't see any cops," Marathon argues. "We have time to-"

  "Not cops," she cuts him off. "The capes from before. Came back for their friend."

  Marathon's face darkens with frustration, but he doesn't question her assessment. That's interesting, too. When I'm not being strangled, I'll take note.

  The pressure around my throat increases suddenly, and Drop leans close to my ear. "Your friends think they're being clever," she whispers. "But I can feel them coming. And I can crush your windpipe before they reach us. Tell them."

  To emphasize her point, the chain constricts painfully. Black spots dance in my vision, and my lungs burn for air. This isn't a bluff - she's really going to do it.

  "What sense does that make?" I manage to croak out. "Kill me and you lose your hostage."

  "I'm a professional. Leaving evidence is sloppy. You still have the opportunity to leave this alive. Tell them."

  "Bite me," I say, and she grits her teeth.

  "Hey! Fuckers! Leave before I decapitate her!" Drop yells, sounding more desperate than threatening.

  Another crack - that strange not-gunshot sound - and this time it's close enough that I feel the air displacement. Drop flinches, her grip momentarily loosening. I suck in a desperate breath, blinking away the darkness creeping into my vision. A sudden little snapping sound, and she flinches again as a marble shatters against her shield of chains.

  "Fuck this," she mutters, and I feel the chain around my throat slacken just slightly. Not freedom, but enough to breathe properly again. "We need to move."

  "What about the merchandise?" Brass Knuckles asks, gesturing toward the gas station where they were in the middle of packing up their Jump operation.

  "Leave it," Marathon orders, his voice tight. "This location is blown. We salvage what we can carry and go."

  I catch a flicker of motion in my peripheral vision - Maggie and Sundial have made it to the edge of the building, just out of Marathon's line of sight. Directly across from them, on the opposite side, something else moves in the shadows. A figure in sleek, form-fitting gear, holding something long and coiled. I squint, trying to make out details.

  Is that... Amelia? What's she holding?

  Fridge Guy swings around suddenly, obviously having caught a stray shoelace, or a wobble out of the periphery. "Contact!" he shouts, pointing directly at Sundial.

  Everything happens at once. Drop jerks me backward, using me as a human shield. Sundial and Maggie break cover, racing toward us. Brass Knuckles and Bat Guy move to intercept them, while Fridge Guy positions himself between Marathon and the perceived threats.

  "We've got a standoff," I hear Tasha say in my earpiece. "Police approaching the area, but still out of sight. You guys need to wrap this up."

  Drop's grip tightens again, and I feel the cold metal of a carabiner press against my temple. "Stay back!" she shouts to my teammates. "Or I put this through her skull!"

  The threat freezes Maggie in her tracks, her hands half-raised to generate force fields. Sundial stops beside her, expression unreadable behind her visor.

  "Let her go," Sundial says, her voice calm and measured. "You're outnumbered, and police are on their way. This doesn't need to end badly for anyone."

  "Outnumbered?" Marathon scoffs, though his confidence sounds forced. "I count two of you, four of us."

  CRACK!

  "Count again," Gossamer quips, as Bat Guy grabs for his hand in pain, letting out an uncharacteristic shriek, dropping his weapon. An arc of fizzy, Jump-y blood sprays out from the back of his palm, and I catch it - just for a split second - the fucking bullwhip? recoiling back into Gossamer's other hand.

  "Four to five," she says coolly. "Not counting our friend with the slingshot. And then there's the police. Tactical decision time."

  The calculus of the situation has clearly changed. I can feel the shift in Drop's posture, the way her muscles tense differently. She's no longer preparing to kill me - she's calculating escape routes.

  Marathon's eyes dart between my teammates, taking stock of the situation. His confidence is visibly crumbling, replaced by the pragmatic assessment of a businessman cutting his losses.

  A distant engine sound reaches us, something with a high-pitched whine. Not police sirens, something else. A motorcycle?

  Drop's grip shifts again, the carabiner moving away from my temple. I catch a glimpse of her face, and for a split second, her eyes meet mine. There's cold calculation there, a final weighing of options. Her domino mask scrunches up.

  Kill me and run? Or just run?

  The chains around my wrists loosen fractionally. She's made her choice.

  "Rush is here," she says to Marathon, her voice flat. "Time to go."

  Right on cue, a sleek motorcycle comes roaring around the corner, its lights off, engine surprisingly quiet for something so powerful. The rider is wearing a red jacket, distinctive, instantly recognizable, his face obscured by a full-face helmet with a reflective visor. He skids to a stop near the gas pumps, leaving the engine running, sliding sideways in a way that looks right out of a movie.

  "That's our cue," Marathon says, backing toward the motorcycle. "Sorry to cut this party short, kids."

  Drop hasn't fully released me yet, but I can feel her attention divided between me and her escape route. The chain around my throat has loosened enough that I can breathe normally, but my wrists are still bound behind my back.

  Another motorcycle engine sounds in the distance - more extraction coming for the rest of Marathon's crew. The police sirens are growing louder too, maybe a minute away now.

  I lock eyes with Maggie, then glance meaningfully at Drop. She nods slightly, understanding my silent communication. She's going to make a move as soon as Drop releases me.

  The tension stretches like a rubber band pulled to its limit. Everyone poised on the edge of action, waiting for the first move.

  And then Drop shoves me forward, hard. "Take her!"