I shoved the rooftop door open so hard it slammed against the wall. I flinched as cold night air hit my face all of a sudden.

But then I turned my face towards the chill. I needed something sharp enough to cut through the panic clawing up my throat.

I walked straight to the edge of the roof, gripping the stone railing hard enough to hurt. My lungs dragged in breath after breath, too fast, too uneven.

Mate.

The word kept echoing.

I hated it.

Behind me, the rooftop door opened again. I ...