Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead - that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, an...
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Back in Syria, I'd learned to trust my gut. That instinct had got me out of trouble on more occasions than I could count, and tonight, I chalked up another point to intuition. I felt rather than heard the person behind me rushing forward while I vacuumed.
He grabbed my legs and lifted me effortlessly, and as I flew over the balcony, I saw Arthur's startled face looking up at me from three floors below. But that split second of warning gave me enough time to grab the railing, and rather than falling to my death, I swung myself under the balcony in an arc, landing heavily on the floor below. My ankle buckled on impact, but I gritted my teeth against the pain, and then the adrenaline rush hit. Run, Rania. I had to get out of the building. In the dark, I could disappear.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs as I raced for the door at the far end of the corridor, fumbling with my swipe card. My assailant knew his plan had failed, and he wasn't giving up.
"Is something wrong?" Helene asked. "Why are you running?"
The door lock beeped at me, and the light flashed red. Why wouldn't it open? A black-clad figure appeared behind me at the end of the hallway, shadowy and sinister, a man wearing a scarf across his face and a hood that left his eyes in darkness. He advanced slowly, taking his time as if he was enjoying my predicament.
"You can't escape." His voice came as a harsh whisper. "I've revoked your privileges. This new security system's so versatile, don't you think?"
Shit, shit, shit.
Now what?
One of the newly installed panic buttons flashed to my left, and I allowed myself a small flicker of hope as I hit it. Silence. Shouldn't there be an alarm or something?
"I disarmed those too."
Great—a tech-savvy killer. My pulse raced almost out of control as I dashed left into the executive office suite, now shrouded in darkness. For one frozen moment, a millisecond between heartbeats, I thought how strange it was that I should be so scared. I used to face worse on a daily basis, and I'd once been dulled to the fear, but four years of safety had acted like a reset button for my resilience. A decade spent learning to fight and kill had been softened by mornings playing with Aisling and afternoons in front of the TV.
For the first time since I arrived in England, I regretted my transformation, but I didn't have time to lament.
Should I hide? No, he'd find me within minutes, most likely by listening for my pounding heart. I ran past Mr. Weston's office, past Helene's, and into Anthony's in the far corner. The window. I could go out the window. I choked back a strangled laugh as I realised I was making a habit of that.
Fumbling for the catch took precious seconds I didn't have, but I finally thumbed it free and gripped the handle. Why wouldn't it open? I tugged harder, but a voice from the doorway interrupted my efforts.
