She took three deep breaths, and then she let go.

Her left knee smacked one of the iron bars halfway down, and her right ankle twisted under her weight when her foot hit the ground. But that was nothing compared to the pain that knifed through her right wrist when she put down her hand to stop her fall.

She had to get herself up.

The alarm still wailed above her head, and somebody would show up soon. Some security officer or the police, and she’d be the only one there. She pressed one scraped palm into the ground and tried to straighten her legs, but everything was throbbing. Her hands, her knees, her ankle, and her wrist most of all.

But then she heard them. Footsteps, running in the right direction. Toward her. Connor had come back!

Except she could see reflective patches from somebody’s sneakers, and Connor was wearing sandals. And when she made out a flash of hair under the streetlights, it was brown, not blond.

Jeremy.

Relief flooded her, followed by disappointment so huge it muffled the pain in her wrist. She could cry in front of Jeremy, that was the good thing. And he was the smartest person she knew. He would figure out what to do to keep them both safe. But if Jeremy was the one coming back to get her, that meant Connor wasn’t.

“Annabelle,” Jeremy said. “I can’t believe those dicks left you!”

Jeremy spat out the word dicks. It sounded way too harsh, way too . . . obscene coming out of his mouth. He never talked like that.

She stiffened. “Don’t call them that.”

“Your knee’s bleeding. And your hands.”

He leaned down so she could hook her arm over his shoulder, and he helped her get up. She smelled his shampoo, almost but not quite covering the scent of chlorine.

“What hurts the most?” he said into her ear. Softly, the same way he’d whispered questions and instructions when they were partners on a sixth-grade science field trip and he didn’t want to scare away the seagulls they were observing.

“My wrist.” She held it up. “And this ankle’s not great either.”

He punched a text message into his phone and then switched to her other side, so that her hurt ankle was closer to him and she could put less weight on it.

“Hurry!” she said. “We’re going to get caught!”

“I don’t want to hurt you even more.”

Too slowly, as the alarm kept wailing, he helped her hobble away. When they got to the side of Ashton Road, he hoisted her onto his back. The sky was getting dark fast now. She could feel his frantic heartbeat where her hands hung onto his chest, and she slipped partway down his back as he ran across the street. As soon as they were on the other side, he put her down, panting. “Hang on a second.”

His phone dinged, and he sent a reply text and then shoved it back into his pocket. Kayla, probably.