There's calculation in everything he does, life nothing but a house of cards balanced on a well-played chess board. Every piece is a player, gathering in shadowed corners so fingers can reach, grasping at the shirttails of would be victims that linger just a second too long. He leads them down alleys and past vacant buildings, barely paying attention to the beckoning shops that are beginning to close for the night, interior lighting spilling out onto the walk as if determined to cast an accusing finger at the man and his tag-a-long, refusing to let them hide. It would be easy to lose their hunters in a crowd, to get lost within a sea of bodies, but the London streets are glaringly devoid of people - a fact that sets the agent's teeth on edge.
Allie is behind him - he can feel her there, a nervous hum just off the edge of his hip - and Lucas tries to pace his steps in some semblance of effort to not leave her behind. He needs time to think, time to plan - and the imagined baying of the hounds at their heels sends a cold sweat down the back of his neck, giving rise to goosebumps at the touch of a faintest breeze. He mumbles something that's meant to be reassuring, ponders for a half a second whether he should be offering the girl stumbling behind him an assist as ridiculous as a piggyback ride or something before deciding against it and ducking to the left. It's narrower here, the walls press together, holding the echo of their footfalls hostage and Lucas pushes forward, following the map that's drawn itself in his head.
The place is easy enough to find, a vacant flat that he'd rented months ago through a third party - a hidden sanctuary should need ever call for it. He thinks longingly of the spare keys that were left sitting atop his table, frown deepening as he tests a kitchen window. He feels it catch, pulls harder, muscles straining until there's a release of tension as glass slides up old wood.... For the first time, he takes a deep breath, willing his thundering heart to slow down. They'd made it.
"In here." It's a short directive, flat and leaving no tone for argument as he pulls himself up, long legs eating up the space between window and ground. He hears her when he's halfway through, wonders if she can hear the eternally long sigh that escapes him. He should leave her, should stop trying to protect this thing that wasn't his .. but instead the agent is shifting backwards, weight hitting the ground beside her once more with a short huff of breath. Blue eyes study her - all wide eyed, like the whole world is new- and Lucas cocks his head, gauging what best to do. He contemplates tossing her upwards, a sort of hurried just get inside ... but instead he shocks even himself, fingers interlacing and long legs bending just in front of her.
"Here, step up. Don't break anything." And then, as an afterthought ... "get the gun inside the cabinet to your left as soon as you get up there. We might need it."
