“Let’s play, big boy,” she said in a sultry voice and swayed her pony ass at us.

I gaped, and Victor shoved me toward the wall of glass. “Get out.”

“I can hide in the bathroom.” Flicking the blade closed, I tucked the knife back into my jeans pocket.

“No,” he replied. “They’ll check the bathroom. I would.” He punched more buttons on the screen control. “You’ll have to go out on the ledge.”

I stared at him. Victor, who was always so collected, had lost it. “There aren’t any windows.”

“One panel opens,” he said. “I charmed it out of one of the attendants. You just need a specialized code. Safety measure.” The glass panel on the very far side of the room slid aside, and the street noise from below reached us, even as the humid air rolled in. “Quick!”

“We’re twenty-three floors up!” I protested.

“You’re a climber.” He pushed me again toward the gaping space. “Just stay put till I let you back in.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity. “It’s a crap image.”

“I recognized you from it,” Vic said. “We can’t risk it.”

Another knock. This time, even louder. “Open up!”

There was no fighting Victor. And there was no other option. I carefully stepped out onto the metal ledge, not more than a foot wide, and the glass immediately slid shut behind me. The windows went opaque, their surface crackling with blue and red laser lights. I stared straight ahead at the skyline, forcing my panic away. Don’t look down. I shuffled my feet until I was flush against the metal divider separating us from the other suite, also extended twelve inches out. The humid air made my skin sticky, but I was grateful there was no strong wind tonight. Sweat rolled down my back, and I suppressed a coughing fit, my eyes tearing with the effort. Coughing, even a sneeze, could send me plummeting to my death. I pressed my hand against the side wall and found a round metal hook set there. Gods. I curled my fingers through it, gripping so hard my nails dug into my palm.

The rumble and hum of aircars and -peds entering the garage a few floors below swept hot air upward. I only hoped none of them would pass too near, spot me, and call Rockaroke security. My palm grasping the metal hook was slick with sweat, and I felt it gather at my hairline, then slide down my forehead.

I blinked, keeping still—fighting the tickle at the back of my throat, the sweat that stung my eyes. I focused on the ad playing on a board mounted on a rooftop across from me. Time dragged. Maybe only a few minutes had passed—I had no idea—it felt like hours.