Michael grabbed his briefcase, pushed open the door and was gone. He was still getting his tie just right as he pushed through the gate to the street; he was late, and if he missed the first step the entire day would be thrown. That wouldn’t work at all, it would simply ruin everything, and he couldn’t afford to have that happen. Not now, not when things were looking so good, when it seemed as though there could finally be a breakthrough.

His leather shoes tattooed a harsh beat on the cement as he strained and pushed, willing his legs to stretch further, every muscle straining at his skin. He couldn’t run, not now – what if she saw him? No, he had to simply stretch as far as he could until it seemed as though his legs would spring leaks and his gasping breaths would rip a hole in the back of his throat, a hole straight back through to the outside world.