Everything freezes. For half a heartbeat, the entire street seems to stop moving. Then the guards turn, and they’re looking directly at me.
The instinct hits before thought does. I’m already starting to move before I think the word,Run.
I pivot on my heel and bolt.
Behind me someone shouts, “Stop him!”
Boots thunder against the stone as the patrol launches after me.
I sprint down the street, weaving through startled pedestrians and market stalls. A merchant curses as I vault over his cart, crates of glowing fruit spilling across the cobblestones behind me.
The guards are fast. Faster than most humans, but I’ve had ten years to learn this city.
I cut left down a narrow alley, sprinting past stacked crates and hanging clotheslines that whip against my face as I pass. Shouts echo behind me. They’re still on my heels.
I burst out onto another canal street and nearly collide with a pair of labour carts. People scatter as I shove through the gap, ignoring the startled curses that follow. My lungs burn.
The warehouse district is still two streets away. Too far. If they catch me above ground?—
No. Don’t think about that. Just move.
I duck into another alley and leap over a stack of shipping crates, landing hard enough that my knees protest violently. The sound of armour clattering grows closer. They’re gaining.
Of course they are. Glowranth soldiers are built like war machines.
I cut toward the warehouse block.
Almost there. Just one more street?—
Something hard slams into my back. The impact drives the air out of my lungs and sends me crashing face-first into the cobblestones. Pain explodes through my ribs, and for a moment, the world spins.
Ten years ago that hit might have kept me down. Ten years ago I would have panicked. But Terrafeara has a way of teaching people resilience.
I roll as the first guard lunges for me, his spear stabbing down towards where my chest had been a second earlier. The blade sparks against stone, and I kick his legs out from under him before scrambling back to my feet.
Another guard charges.
I swing the tool satchel into his face. Metal clanks as the impact knocks his helmet sideways. He staggers, and I run again.
The warehouse door is just ahead now.
Twenty metres.
Fifteen.
Ten—
A second blow slams into my side. This one lands clean, and something cracks.
White-hot pain shoots through my ribs as I crash against the wall beside the door. I gasp, struggling to pull air into my lungs.
Hands grab me. I swing wildly, catching one guard across the jaw. Another drives a fist into my stomach hard enough to make the world go black at the edges.
I drop to one knee as boots surround me.
Armour.
Weapons.
