The wind wasn't cold. That was the lie movies told you.
The wind was hot, suffocating, roaring in my ears like a jet engine.
I was falling.
The neon lights of Neo-Veridia blurred into streaks of violent color—red, gold, electric blue. They rushed upward as I plummeted downward. My stomach was in my throat, a scream trapped behind my teeth that wouldn't come out.
I saw the balcony receding above me. I saw Lysander’s face, not twisted in anger, but bored. He was checking his watch. Checking the time of death.
You’re just a tool, Vespera.
The ground rushed up. The asphalt was a gray maw waiting to swallow me whole. I braced for the impact, for the shattering of bone, the explosion of pain— "No!"
The scream tore out of my throat, raw and jagged.
I thrashed, striking out at the darkness
