Alaric lowered his body as far as he could, skimming along the last remaining side of the building. His breath mixed with a heartbeat that thudded harder against his ribs with every passing second. Each step felt like a wager, because he knew that a single lapse would snare him. The security system here was no joke, and the detection that had just popped up would have the guards on higher alert.

Outside, the heavy thud of footsteps alternated with the clipped chatter from the guards' handheld radios. Flashlights pierced the windows facing the street, sweeping left and right. Alaric forced himself to stay behind a fragile wooden post.

He waited until he could read the pattern of the guards' steps. When they all turned right at once, Alaric slipped left, broke into a low run, then stopped again when footsteps sounded nearby. He played with time and nerve, using the seconds when the guards' attention was elsewhere.

"Almost there, almost there," he murmured inwardly.

When one guard paused at an intersection, Alaric held his breath so long his chest burned. His eyes flicked in every direction, searching for an opening. As soon as the guard moved on and left a narrow gap, Alaric shot out like a flash. His feet hit the ground and his body surged forward without tools, lights, or any improbable magic to help him.

He raced past a small garden, slipping between a tangle of hedges. He moved down a slightly steep patch of dry earth. From afar he looked back. The guards were still where they had been, unaware of what had just happened. A fleeting sense of relief rose in Alaric's chest, as if a great weight had been lifted.

That hope did not last long.

Seconds after he reached the edge of the estate's boundary fence, a small siren sounded, followed by a voice over the loudspeaker.

"Target detected! Young man in a black hoodie on the outer perimeter! Capture him immediately, do not let him escape!"

Alaric staggered. He froze for a fraction of a second and turned to look back. On the CCTV monitor his figure was already clearly visible. There was no longer any way to hide his identity now that he had been flagged as an intruder. The guards, who had been calm moments before, went feral. Searchlights began sweeping every inch of ground and wall, hunting for his trail.

His heart raced again. He had no choice. With the last of his energy he ran into the dark night. Gravel bit into his soles, but he did not care. Alaric had to widen the distance between himself and the guards who were certainly chasing him now.

Shouts multiplied. He heard heavier footfalls behind him—some of the guards had released their best runners to pursue. Alaric gritted his teeth, realizing the situation could turn into a nightmare at any moment.

"They know now... it's too late," he thought, panic mixing with despair.

Another part of him refused to give up. He knew tonight was a test. If he failed to get away, everything he carried, including the jade and that strange weapon, would fall back into enemy hands and be turned against them. That could not happen.

Air still pinched his lungs as footsteps moved away from the castle fence. In the distance a radio crackled on repeat. "Movement on the right, approximately fifty paces!" a voice reported, firm and clear.

Suddenly the patrol pattern changed; a few men turned, spreading out toward intersections to close off escape routes. Searchlights swept the grass, exposing shadows that had been hidden. Orders were acknowledged and a new wave of purposeful footsteps closed in.

Alaric glanced over his shoulder and saw the net of danger tightening behind him. His heart hammered—an internal alarm that never lied. He kept running, slipping through narrow alleys between houses. He ducked beneath a flickering streetlamp. Chaotic thoughts spun in his head; every option looked risky, every choice seemed to lead to death if he made the wrong move.

Then a wild idea dropped into place and suddenly made so much sense that Alaric almost laughed at his own agility. He paused at a corner, pressed his back to a stone wall, and closed his eyes for a few seconds to steady his breathing.

He could still hear the guards' radio commands, a low murmur: "Sector A locked. Sector B closed. Do not allow escape to the main road." They fanned out, sealing the usual routes people used to flee.

Why don't I just disguise myself as someone who's passing by? Alaric thought. He ran the possibilities through his head quickly. Disguise himself as a man? No. His face was already easy to pick out on the CCTV; his posture, the way he walked, the way he held his breath. Those would be giveaways.

Why not disguise himself as the opposite sex? Some people, including the guards, tended to read movement, not only faces. Small changes in posture and clothing could skew interpretation and blur assumptions. Alaric knew it wasn't a guarantee, but it might be his chance.

He moved more slowly now, scanning for anything that could help alter his silhouette. In front of a small numbered house laundry hung on a line; abandoned clothes that were probably left by the sleeping occupant. A long dark scarf swung loose, nearly slipping from the line. Alaric crouched, grabbed the scarf, and hid it in his own coat. The smell of dry soap clung to it, making it easy to pass as someone else's.

Around the next corner he found a stack of delivery boxes. A thin women's jacket lay across them. The jacket was not his, and that was its advantage: no one would immediately recognize it as his property.

With practiced movements he slipped behind a gate and pulled the jacket over himself, letting the thin hood cover his usually visible short hair. He wrapped the scarf loosely around his neck and drew the hood forward so it hid part of his jaw and neck. The longer cut of the jacket covered his hips and narrowed the broad line of his shoulders.

More importantly, Alaric changed the way he walked. He shortened his stride, slowed his rhythm, shifted his center of gravity slightly back, and pushed forward with softer knees.

The twitching that had shown in his hands earlier had been spontaneous. Now he controlled it, tucking his hands in front of his chest or crossing them over his stomach, shaping a posture he had seen on women walking: shoulders slightly forward, a controlled sway of the hips.

No voice was required because he planned to avoid speaking. If anyone addressed him he would lower his head and offer a brief, polite nod before continuing like an ordinary passerby.

His head ran through calculations: patrol schedules, camera blind spots he had memorized, windows people used to walk past. He watched the silhouettes moving on the pavement: a mother pushing a stroller, two students carrying books while talking, a vendor calling out to customers.

They became subtle contrasts he could use to camouflage himself. Alaric took a deep breath and set his face to an expression that read as neither too alert nor too concerned. A blend of indifference and slight confusion, the kind of look a shopper leaving a store might have.

The new gait felt odd at first; his body had to adapt to a rhythm that was not his. He swung his arms less, flexing his wrists so his movement looked smooth. Whenever a vehicle passed he slowed, glanced at a shop window, and pretended to check his watch. Acting like he was just passing by worked in a small, magical way, making the aura that had been chasing him less able to pin a single label on him: "target." Alaric was too clever and too experienced to be toyed with easily. Where this skill had come from was anyone's guess. Hadn't he simply been a youth who had just crawled out from the losing side?

At a dead-end corner he heard the guards' radios drawing nearer. The sound made it clear there were more of them. Rough breaths could be heard even from the target's vantage point. Alaric searched for a safe route. He waited until two guards dashed past, then eased across the main road, melting into the crowd of people heading home. The long jacket hid his stomach, the scarf masked his jawline; every movement was deliberately small and unremarkable.

His heart still pounded, but his mind worked fast, a blend of adrenaline and razor-sharp focus. He knew this disguise was not foolproof; his face remained at risk of being identified if someone analyzed the CCTV footage closely. For now, though, caught in the current of people going home, he became one indistinct figure among many shadows. The guards' radios, the tool of their coordination, faded in the distance.

Alaric walked on, glancing back once to confirm the route he had used was clear. From within the crowd he watched uniformed figures move like a wave, glancing left and right. They had not realized their target had hidden in plain sight among the flow. A small smile threatened to break across Alaric's lips and he quickly erased it, sinking back into the role of just another passerby.

In the moments that followed he began planning his next move: take the evidence he had seized from Fery to a safe place, think through who he could trust, and how to mount a counterstrike against a syndicate that was far more organized than he had expected.

He continued, blending into the crowd while the searchlights retreated. Other ideas rotated through his mind... tools, contacts, who to call. All of it had to be arranged slowly; haste could be fatal. For now there was one thing that mattered: remain unseen. Stay alive. And when the right opportunity came, Alaric knew he would have to act faster than the night that covered him now.