The knife bit into her skin, a searing line across her distended abdomen. It didn’t break the surface, but the pressure alone was enough to make Danica’s vision white out. A strangled sound tore from her, a raw gasp that wasn’t quite a scream. She felt the heavy, thrumming beat of the child beneath the blade, a vibrant, innocent pulse. Viktor’s breath, rank with adrenaline and sweat, was hot on her ear. His grip on her waist tightened, digging bony digits into her hip. “No!” The roar that ripped from Julian Kestner was primal, a sound Danica had never heard from him, devoid of all cold calculation. It reverberated through the vast atrium, bouncing off the stone columns and the rain-streaked glass. He didn’t hesitate. The polished black pistol clattered to the floor, a useless thing in the face of this new, wild intent. He launched himself forward, a blur of dark expensive fabric, his eyes fixed on the gleaming blade. Viktor, surprised by Julian’s sudden charge, faltered, his attention momentarily pulled from Danica. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Julian didn’t try to parry the knife. He didn’t try to disarm Viktor. He simply ran into it. The blade, still pressed against Danica’s belly, sliced upward, tearing through Julian’s expensive coat, then into the solid muscle of his shoulder. A wet, tearing sound. Julian grunted, a guttural expulsion of air, but he didn’t stop. He closed the distance, his uninjured arm wrapping around Viktor’s neck, a vice of muscle and bone. He ripped Viktor away from Danica with impossible force, sending them both staggering back. Danica stumbled, freed from Viktor’s embrace, her hand flying to her aching abdomen. The cold sensation of the blade was gone, replaced by a phantom ache. She watched, disoriented, as Julian slammed Viktor against a massive fluted pillar, blood already blooming dark on Julian’s grey coat. Viktor roared, thrashing, the knife still clutched in his hand, a crimson smear now coating its edge. “Now, Oksana!” Danica’s voice was hoarse, a plea ripped from her lungs. She locked eyes with her friend, who had been frozen, wide-eyed, against the pillar. Oksana’s face was streaked with tears and dirt, her lip split. But something sparked in her gaze, a fierce light of resolve. She launched herself forward, not at the struggling men, but at Viktor’s legs. She tackled him low, a desperate, clumsy lunge, sending his feet out from under him. Viktor bellowed, losing balance. Julian seized the opportunity, twisting, slamming Viktor’s head against the pillar with sickening force. Then, as Viktor stumbled, Julian tore the knife from his grip, flinging it across the atrium with a violent flick of his wrist. It spun end over end, disappearing into the vastness of the space. Danica didn’t wait. Her eyes darted around, searching. Her gaze landed on a pedestal near the shattered entrance to the panic room. A towering, abstract assembly of interlocking glass forms, a deep obsidian hue, thick and heavy. A Morvath piece, she realized, one she’d helped her father create. It was designed to withstand a fall, but not a direct impact. Not like this. She ran, her steps unsteady, but fueled by a ferocious need to protect. She gripped the piece, its cold surface rough beneath her palms. It was heavier than she anticipated, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins made her strong. She hoisted it, the sharp edges glinting. Viktor was on his knees, shaking his head, dazed. Julian stood over him, breathing hard, his hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder. Oksana struggled to pull herself up, gasping for air. “Danica, no!” Julian’s voice was strained, a warning. But it was too late. Danica brought the glass down with all her might. A dull thud, a sickening crack. The thick glass connected with Viktor’s skull. A spray of crimson blossomed, dark against his already bruised skin. He cried out, a garbled sound, and crumpled to the floor, glassy-eyed. Julian stared, aghast, then turned his gaze to Danica. Her hair hung in tangled ropes, the heavy block still clutched in her hands, a smear of Viktor’s blood staining its surface. “Get him to the window,” Danica commanded, her voice surprisingly steady. “He won’t stay down.” Her gut told her this wasn't over. Viktor was too stubborn, too filled with hate. They couldn't leave him here for Kestner security to find; he'd just escape again. They had to ensure he couldn't return. Julian, grimacing, nodded. He kicked Viktor’s side, testing his unconsciousness. Oksana, recovering her breath, scrambled to help. Together, the two women and the bleeding CEO heaved Viktor’s heavy, inert form. They dragged him across the polished floor, the rough fabric of his coat scraping against the granite tiles. They reached the atrium’s far wall, a towering expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the perpetually rain-swept metropolis. The city lights below twinkled like scattered jewels, impossibly distant. The wind howled a mournful dirge against the glass, making the panes flex subtly. “On three,” Julian grunted, his face pale from blood loss. “Push.” They positioned Viktor, his head lolling. The glass felt impossibly thin, yet too solid to break. Danica pressed her shoulder against his back, pushing with every ounce of strength she had. Oksana pushed with her legs, Julian using his good arm. “One… two… THREE!” They pushed. With a groan of tortured metal and a deafening explosion of sound, the reinforced panes gave way. A spiderweb of cracks erupted, then the entire section exploded outwards, showering them with icy droplets and sharp fragments. The roar of the wind immediately intensified, sucking the air from their lungs, pulling at their clothes. Viktor’s body, suddenly weightless, tumbled into the abyss. But just as he plunged, his hand shot out, a desperate, instinctual grab. His fingers closed around the thick, expensive silk tie Julian was wearing. The dark fabric stretched taut, then held. Julian gasped, yanked forward with terrifying speed. His feet scrabbled on the wet, slippery floor, finding no purchase. He slid towards the broken window, Viktor’s dead weight pulling him down. Danica screamed, lunging to grab Julian’s arm, her other hand flailing for Oksana’s. Julian’s upper body pitched out into the roaring wind, his body swaying precariously over the endless drop. The Kestner Spire’s lights illuminated Viktor’s body, dangling hundreds of feet above the rain-slicked streets. His eyes fluttered open, dark and malevolent. He looked up at them, a twisted grin spreading across his bloodied face. “Pull us up, Danica,” Viktor rasped, his voice barely audible above the wind, “or we both go down.”

The Drop