As soon as the FBI hit two floors below him, the numbers decided it was important for him to realize. He bolted up in bed, eyes going wide, before squinting against the bright light that was streaming in through his "window". This had been the first time that he had been able to sleep deeply since entering the run-down apartment, and he cursed the agent for not giving him at least until that night. It took him a moment to recognize that he wasn't even surprised to realize that she had found him. Perhaps it was the little clues, the things he really shouldn't have ignored, but had anyways.

The night manager was the first big clue. He had been acting different ever since that one night where someone had called 911 and no police had shown up. That must have been the tip-off. The homeless man huddled in one of the little culverts on the outside of the building should have been the second clue. Ethan had reached a point where anyone staring at him brought a touch of suspicion, but the stare had been so abstract that he had been willing to dismiss it, even when he realized that the man was not truly homeless, but an undercover cop. He had let himself assume that the cops had finally gotten a tip-off about the meth-lab and were preparing to close in. He had even dismissed the arrival of a couple stealth cop cars, tacking it to the meth lab.

She certainly had come in understated, or he never would have missed her presence. Now he only had a few moments to prepare, to find a way out. There was only one set of stairs in the building, and she would certainly have the lower levels blocked off. That left only one direction for him to go, up. All he had to do was find a way down once he went up, a way down that the FBI woman couldn't follow him.

He got out of bed quickly, pulling on a hoody and shoes so that he wouldn't stand out in the middle of the street when he did find a way to get away. And he was certain that he would find a way, one way or another. They couldn't hold him, even if they did get him now. It was impossible. He would only need the tiniest mistake to work off of, and he would be gone.

Ethan scanned the number feverishly, trying to find the best way out. He grabbed a dilapidated nightstand and dragged it over behind the door, picked up a pillow and the blankets and set them in front of the nightstand, before unlocking the door and standing on top of the nightstand. When the SWAT man kicked the door open there was little resistance to the movement. The man stumbled forward and the door bounced violently off of Ethan's nightstand, swinging forward and clubbing the man in the head with the doorknob. Even as the SWAT man was falling to the ground with a bloody lump on his forehead Ethan was leaping over him, desperately relying on the ninety five percent chance that no one would shoot at him, and the eighty four percent chance that, if they did, the bullet would not hit him.

All of those nights of running paid off, and Ethan took off like an Olympic sprinter. He knew they were chasing him, and knew that he would need to find some way to get rid of, at the very least, both of their guns. He pounded his way up through the stories, taking steps two at a time. On the thirteenth floor, he found one of his outs. He sprinted past the reinforced door to the meth lab, the two police hot on his heels. The woman made it past the door, but as the SWAT man was trying to pass it swung open suddenly. The guard posted inside had heard the commotion, and decided to come take a look. "Police," he bellowed at the top of his lungs, before diving forwards at the SWAT man, sending his gun spiraling down the stairs to clatter to a halt one level down. The man would probably be fine, but there was no way he was coming after Ethan now.

It was just him and the strange woman who seemed inexplicably bound to him. Just as it always was.

In one last, quick burst of speed, Ethan hurtled his way out onto the rooftop. He was breathing heavily but deeply, and he didn't slow as he hurtled toward the edge of the building. In one smooth movement, he jumped on top of the concrete barrier intended to keep people from accidentally falling off the roof. But there would be no accidents today.

As soon as the wind hit his face, Ethan found his way out. It was simple, elegant, and damn near suicidal. But he was probably the only person in the world who could pull it off. The problem was he would need time to get things set up. Time that he no longer had. Ethan stood carefully on the wall, keeping the numbers forward in his mind. He raised up on the balls of his toes, and teetered precariously on the edge. He wasn't falling, not unless he wanted to, but the FBI agent wouldn't know that.

He knew how to stall her, too. He could almost see it written on her face. She didn't want him to die. She wanted to escort him downstairs in handcuffs, not letting him out of her sight until she finally got a chance to ask him all those questions that burned inside of her. But it wouldn't take much to get her to spill them now.

"Very good," he congratulated her warmly, his arms spread wide and the wind teasing the hair on his forehead. "You finally caught up with me. But I think you know that I'm not going to go quietly."