I duck around a corner, my heart slamming against my ribs. My shoes slip on the wet pavement. I'm losing ground.

A hand catches my arm before I can fall, steadying me with an almost gentle grip. I look up, and the streetlight catches ice-blue eyes, framed by bleach-blond hair plastered to pale skin by the rain. He's tall, lean muscle under a damp designer coat that probably costs more than I've made in a year.

His nostrils flare almost imperceptibly. Something shifts in those blue eyes—recognition, maybe. Want.