I balk, want to shout at him we can't fly, only to find myself heaved over the side to land with a clatter on a rusting fire escape. The dog comes at me as if he too has been thrown, landing hard on my chest. I grasp for him, hold him tight to keep him safe. The railing behind me is missing, fallen away, a large gap below me. Beckett lands beside me as the metal groans under our weight.
It's a very long way down.
"Go," he snaps, grabbing the dog from my arms. I secure the book inside my jacket before drawing a breath and leaping down the distance to the next step. Its unhappy protest is an empty threat, at least so far. I reach up, accept the dog from Beckett and retreat down three steps so he can join me.
We both shout out a warning, mine in words, the dog's an anxious bark as someone
