My head is cradled in Warner's lap.

My head is in his lap.

I'm not moving and my head is resting on Warner's leg.

I'm highly aware of only two things: my head in Warner's lap and his arms that rest lightly around me.

It must be late morning by now and his head is tilted back against the crate and his eyes are closed. He looks so innocent as he sleeps, the sun catching daintily on his eyelashes, making them look like spun gold in the minimal lighting that the broken windows of the room offer. If you saw him now, it'd be hard to believe that this boy could have hurt, murdered so many people, ruined so many lives, but he has. But that's almost too easy to forget.

What a lie appearances can be.

I'm evaluating the best course of action when he begins to stir, I only have a split second to decide-stay here and feign sleep, or attempt to slip out of his arms. I choose the former. I close my eyes and take deep, constant breaths. I feel Warner's sharp intake of breath, his eyes must be open now, he must be as confused as I am. I'm expecting him to wake me, expecting him to get up, look around, but instead, he laughs. He actually giggles, and then, I feel the shift in the air as his hand reaches out to stroke my hair. His fingers reach my locks and, ever so gently, he combs them through the waves, his touch is feather-light yet so much power is contained within it, so much passion. I can hardly understand him anymore and with every passing moment, I can feel my conflict with him seeping out of my bloodstream and out onto the open ground, leaving a stain but I'm finally rid of the poison.

I'm not sure if this is good or bad.

I know I shouldn't trust him, I shouldn't care; But sometimes, we learn to care about the people who surround us, no matter who they are. I'm worried that I've learned to even tolerate Warner because I know I shouldn't I shouldn't I shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't. Warner is not someone to be trusted. Ever. But I do tolerate him, I even trust him sometimes, and it terrifies me.

My thoughts are interrupted by a voice, barely a whisper, he must think I'm still asleep, but he's speaking ever so quietly, carefully to make sure he doesn't wake me. "I thought you'd be gone," he says with heavy relief creeping into his tone, "I thought you'd be running away from me by now."

I don't know why I'm not.

He lifts my head then, careful not to disturb me, and slips out from under me, gently lowering my head to the ground, and stands up, I hear his footsteps pacing the ground for a few moments before he's saying, "Juliette," he's saying, "love, it's time to wake up."

And I allow my eyes to flutter open, to look up at him, standing over me with his hands folded and his white-collared shirt untucked. It's only then that I realize his suit jacket is still draped around my shoulders as I lay on the cold cement ground of the warehouse. I wrap it more tightly around me as I push myself into a crossed-legged sitting position on the floor.

"Good morning," he says plainly, "we don't have much of choice but to get going again soon, Juliette, otherwise I'm afraid my father's men will catch up with us."

I blink twice, allow this information to sink in until my tired brain can truly remember that we're running from something, from someone. I nod slowly and rub my eyes with the back of one fist. I look up at Warner and see he's smiling at me wildly, it's the most genuine smile I've seen from him to date.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask him, confused as to how he is so readily positive this morning, seeing as we're on the run from his father.

He shakes his head as if what I've just said is silly beyond belief, "It's nothing, get ready quickly, now, Juliette, we should be going soon."

It only takes about fifteen minutes before we're piled back into the tank and driving away from the warehouse.


We've been driving for almost an hour when a vehicle appears in the rearview mirror. Warner sees it first.

"God damn it," he mutters under his breath, "Juliette, love, there's been a change of plans," he says without taking his eyes off the land ahead of us.

"Did we even have a plan in the first place?" I say somewhat grimly.

He frowns, "What I meant to say is, we have to survive, and my father's men are a lot less sparing than mine, they're vicious, cruel monsters."

It's when he says this that the first shot is fired from behind us, it misses us just barely as we head towards a nearby compound.

"Juliette, can you check for damage?" Warner inquires urgently.

I'm not sure what he means, I'm not sure I'm qualified to check for anything, "I don't know how to see if there was any damage, Warner."

"Nevermind then, everything seems to be working properly, but keep your eye on the mirror, love."

I stare into the rearview mirror and keep watch on the tanks behind us. There seem to be three of them, but they aren't shooting at us constantly, we're caught in a car chase of sorts and I'm not sure if they're shooting to kill or disable. I'm starting to sweat, already nervous from the confrontation when another shot rings from behind us. We ran away to survive but we might just die before we even get the chance to try. The shot misses us again.

We're finally approaching the compounds, turning in, when Warner starts shouting at me, "We're going to get out and run, Juliette," he takes a deep breath, "Run into the nearest building and I'll be right behind you, find a back door and make a break out of it, we'll find another vehicle, the tank's mechanical footprint is too easily traceable," he says very matter-of-factly, as if I'm one of his soldiers and not the poor, mad girl he's ran away with.

I nod, "okay," I say. Warner stops the tank on the side of a road and I immediately fling open the door and jump out, the other tanks were shocked by our turn onto the streets of the compound, which has bought us some time. I'm running towards an official looking building, I'm sprinting full speed at the closed door and I turn around to see if Warner's behind me.

I'm relieved to see that he is.

I throw open the door and rush inside, I'm relieved when there isn't anyone waiting in the building to take me out, to capture me. I'm surrounded by almost nothing, just plush, velvet furniture and a long counter with windowed vender stations. It seems that we've run into a bank. There's a black door with a silver handle in the middle of the back wall and I make a break for it.

I place my sweaty palm on the door handle and push it open and all of a sudden I'm in the safe room, but I have no interest in grabbing any of the money, instead, I stay on my path towards a door identical to the one we just came through, a black one with a silver handle, I push it open, and once again, we're outside. But this time, we're in an alley.

I stop, having no idea where to go. Warner has to stop quickly behind me as not to bump into me. We both know that as soon as we leave the alley, there will be a tank waiting for us in the street, and I'm not sure if that would mean our capture or our death, but I don't want to find out. Running back into the bank isn't an option either, there are surely men following us by now.

Forward is the only way out.

Warner grabs my hand and he's pulling me out of the alley, out into the open air of the streets and he stops right before we run into the road. He ducks behind a nearby car and he pulls a gun with a golden handle from his jacket pocket. He pulls me down and we sit with our backs toward the car. There's shouting and footprints approaching us and I can't think of what to do, I don't know what to do and I'm looking at the ground and I'm looking at the sky and I look at Warner. Warner looks too calm for the situation we're in. I count his breaths.

1.

2.

3.

4 breaths before he stands up and shoots at the nearest soldier sprinting down the street toward where we're hiding. He turns quickly and aims, there's a cry of pain only moments after he pulls the trigger. He ducks back down and turns to look at me, silently.

Warner is unphased by the tension, by the injury caused by his actions, and I almost want to yell at him, but then I remember our situation, remember that these men want to kill us, and maybe the only way to stay safe is to get them before they get us.

I guess sometimes you have to learn to shoot first.

Warner stands up again and I hear a shower of bullets being fired from every direction. He grabs my hand again, "Follow my lead, Juliette, we're going to have to move," he says urgently.

I'm up and we're running across the street and Warner is shooting shooting shooting and I'm not even watching and my ears feel like they've been stuffed full of cotton because all I hear is muffled screams and Warner's labored breaths as bullet after bullet after bullet narrowly misses us.

We're about to dive into a small warehouse of some sort when Warner lets out an inhuman sound, doubles over momentarily before regaining his composure and throwing open the door to the warehouse.

I'm staring at the door when it shuts behind us, I hear another shower of bullets and more yelling on the other side. I'm so transfixed by the sounds and the stress of the situation that the only thing that takes me out of my mind is Warner slamming a chair under the doorknob.

"That might buy us a few extra seconds," he says as he clutches his stomach. He pulls his hand away and I can see the blood now, there's a hole in his stomach and he's been hit and there's so much blood and his white white shirt is turning red red red and his hand is covered in it. I can't explain my inability to breathe or the sudden constriction in my heart but I need him to be okay because I'm not sure I could escape this by myself, without him I'm not sure I wouldn't be traumatized if he died.

"We have to keep going," Warner says as he clutches his stomach again, he looks so pale and I can't imagine him making it out of this building let alone walking even a few steps. "We have to get out of here before they catch up," he's breathing so heavily and I'm almost positive that something vital has been hit and this injury will take so much more than just some bandages and some antiseptic to heal.

"Warner-" I begin to tell him it's okay if we have to take it slow, to rest, even though I know the soldiers are right are on our tails, but he'll have none of it.

"Juliette, we have to keep going," he says as he lets go of his stomach and grabs my clean hand with his bloody one, he starts moving and tugs me along behind him as he frantically searches for another exit. There are shelves and shelves and shelves of boxes and packages of all sorts, it's hard to see past them and we're blindly stumbling through to find another exit. There's a consistent, large banging noise coming from behind us and then rounds and rounds of gunshots, it's obvious they've almost made it in. Our feet pound tile floors our hands searching through the bleak light for some kind of outlet, some kind of access to the streets. This building is larger than we anticipated, massive, with hundreds of possible directions. We're running through and there's still no exit, still nowhere to go. We see a stairwell in the corner at the exact same time and dive toward it just as the bullets break through the door behind us. It's a spiral staircase that winds into a lower level, a basement of some kind, and just as I disappear down the stairwell, I catch a glimpse of the soldiers barrelling through the broken door to the building.

Warner is stumbling in the darkness of the dark, dank basement and leaving drops of blood on the ground as we run, I want so badly to stop the bleeding, the obvious pain he's in. With every drop of his blood that hits the floor, the knot in my heart twists a little tighter and I can feel the vomit threatening to spill out of my mouth and the forthcoming panic attack that I'm trying so hard to quell.

I spot a pair of storm cellar doors and realize that this might be our only way out. I'm being dragged along and I'm sure that some of Warner's blood has dried onto my hand now and I give his hand a squeeze and shout his name. When he briefly turns around, I point at our only possible escape route.

:"Good job, love," Warner says quietly, he's straining to speak now, obviously struggling to keep on his feet as we blindly struggle towards the doors. I'm struggle to pull the latch open, the doors are nearly rusted shut. But we're getting desperate and I don't know how long it will be until the soldiers find the stairs and pursue us in the blackness of this cellar. I'm fighting with the latch and I can feel the fire growing in the pit of my stomach as Warner's pain ever so strongly resonates in my own body, I can't bear to see him like this, I'm not sure what to do after we get out of here or where we're going when we get out of here. I'm freaking out, panicking, but I need to get out of here before Warner collapses, before the soldiers catch up with us and I'm trying so hard to breathe but the air is suffocating in this basement and I'm still clawing at this door and-

I claw right through the metal. All of a sudden, there's a hole in the door and my hand is right through it. I'm reenergized, refocused by this odd happening, so much so that I almost rip the entire door off it's hinges in an effort to make the hole big enough for us to fit through.

I look over at Warner and his eyes are so wide and he's staring at me so excitedly and I think I see his mouth form the word miraculous before he tells me, "Let's go!" and we're diving through the door and out onto the street. It's an empty street except for three cars that are sitting in front of us. Warner pulls his hand away from mine and staggers towards the nearest one, pulls out his gun, and shoots the lock on the car. "Well," he says as he sits in the driver's seat, "Get in."

He unlocks the passenger door and I climb in just as he hits the gas and we're flying down the street at what must be an illegal speed. "Are you sure you're okay to drive?" I ask him, worried about his wound, he's losing blood fast and he could barely walk by the time we got to the car, I'm worried he won't be able to drive the car for too long, and I don't know how to drive an automobile.

"I'm fine," he says, "But I have no idea where we're going to go."