He laughed at her final words, a harsh, cruel barking laugh that contained more pain than actual humor. He could not figure out what she expected from him. Or, perhaps more importantly, he couldn't figure out what he expected from her. He could see in her eyes that she wasn't going to let him go until she finally caught him, and yet he still planned to run. At the moment, it seemed like the only option. Whether or not it was an "only option" like Victor had been an "only option" remained to be seen. The numbers were coming together, there were only a few more seconds left. The wind was fast, whipping him from side to side, and only the numbers held him in place.

"You are quite right, Bree." he replied, his voice so quiet that it would almost be lost in the wind. "You've got it all wrong." The tarp below him was flapping wildly as the wind eddied around the building. One last sharp gust pulled it out of the window, and sent one end of it flying out into empty air. It whirled around like a giant white flag, before another gust of wind pushed it up towards the roof. "But I won't be the one explaining it to you."

He smiled blissfully, and gave one final shove to the numbers. And then everything was in place. His body tipped back fluidly, arching like a high-jumper hurtling over the pole. His feet slipped off the edge and he let out an exultant whoop as the air rushed around him. He snagged the corner of the tarp fluttering below him, and the force of his fall ripped it completely out from where it was attached to the wall. The small piece of drywall that came with it fell much faster than the impromptu parachute, and Ethan twisted wildly in mid fall, snagging the other corner. For one moment before the plastic opened up, it looked like two wings spread out behind his back.

A sudden gust of wind came up from below, billowing the thin, watertight plastic out in the air. Ethan slowed violently, and he couldn't help the small groan that slipped from between his lips as one of his shoulders dislocated. Just because he had been expecting it didn't make the pain any less. He glided for barely half a second, before releasing the tarp just about a story above the ground and falling towards earth. He rolled out on the concrete sidewalk, letting out a scream as his shoulder was popped back into place by the roll.

Ethan had no talent for parkour, but even someone who had never practiced free running had the chance, by pure, dumb luck, to get an almost perfect roll. The concrete scraped against the palms of his hands, ripping skin, and his hoodie ripped when a thread got caught on a particularly rough patch of ground, but all things considered he was remarkably intact. He was far more intact, in fact, than he had any right to be.

This time, he didn't bother with any sort of theatrics towards the certainly dumbfounded agent who must surely be watching him from fifteen stories up. His fall had been theatrics enough. Perhaps even too much theatrics. Instead, he gathered his feet under him, stood, and hobbled away as quickly as he could. His stride loosened up as he moved, and pretty soon he was rolling through the streets at a decent clip. It was time to get out of this city, time to get away from all the things that were waiting for him in it. A part of him longed to return to the sweet, simple life of Port Townsend, where he could go where he would and do what he pleased, but he shook away the thought of such a simple, good life the way he might try and shake away a fly. It was not something of which he had any right to dream.

He didn't look back as he ran, didn't bother to check what Bree might be doing. They weren't going to catch up to him again in this city. Somewhere nearby there was a person who hadn't been completely hardened by this part of town yet, a person who also wouldn't recognize him. That person would take him somewhere, somewhere far away from here, where he might get a chance to start again, at least until Bree showed up and drove him to run once more.