Luka was already on his phone. “Full team to the house. Immediate.”
Dmitri spun the wheel and I watched the motorcycle's tail light disappear into the traffic ahead of us. Gone. Always exactly one step ahead.
TWENTY-ONE
NO MASK
TROY
Ihit the pavement running before Dmitri finished braking.
The SUV was still rolling when I yanked the door open and launched myself out, boots slamming concrete and legs already pumping. The motorcycle was three blocks ahead, weaving through traffic with its engine screaming.
“Troy, wait!” Luka's voice cut through the open door behind me.
I didn't slow down.
The figure on the bike glanced back. Even through the helmet, I felt them clock my pursuit. Then the bike surged forward, jumped a curb, and cut down an alley too narrow for vehicles.
I followed and hit the alley at full speed, boots splashing through puddles that soaked through my jeans. Brick andconcrete closed in on both sides, creating a canyon of shadow with dirty snow piled at the edges, gray and half-melted, turning the ground slick.
The motorcycle was faster but limited by the tight space, forced to slow for turns and navigate around dumpsters and debris while I could go anywhere. I vaulted over a stack of pallets and turned the landing into forward momentum. Ahead, the bike skidded around a corner with its rear tire sliding out before catching again.
My lungs burned and my ribs screamed from the sparring two days ago, but I ignored both and focused on closing the distance.
The alley opened onto a side street and the bike shot through without checking for traffic, horns blaring as I burst out seconds later and caught a flash of black half a block up, turning left. I ran into traffic and dodged between cars, a taxi nearly clipping me, the driver leaning on his horn.
Another alley opened up, wider this time with loading docks on both sides. The bike was maybe fifty yards ahead and I was gaining.
The figure looked back again and saw how close I'd gotten. They ditched the bike, just dropped it mid-movement and rolled, letting the motorcycle slide away in a shower of sparks while they came up running like someone who'd been trained for exactly this.
Now we were both on foot and I pushed harder, everything narrowing to the figure ahead in black clothes and a black helmet, broad-shouldered and moving with a control that said this wasn't their first time being chased.
They cut right and I followed, ending up in a service corridor between buildings barely wide enough for one person. Ahead, I heard metal clanging and looked up to find them already on a fire escape, climbing fast.
I hit the ladder at speed and started climbing, three rungs at a time. The figure reached the first landing without slowing and I hit it seconds later and kept going. Second floor, third, fourth. The building was six stories and they weren't stopping.
My forearms screamed but I tightened my grip and kept climbing because stopping meant losing them. At the fifth floor, the figure swung onto the landing and ran for the roof access. I was one floor behind, hearing their boots hit metal above me and then the door at the top bang open.
I reached the top landing and threw myself through.
The rooftop was flat and graveled with HVAC units humming and water towers creating a maze of obstacles. Snow was falling, light but steady, catching in the security lights and turning the gravel pale. The city spread out below in a blur of neon and sodium glow, orange and pink bleeding into the white.
The figure was already halfway across, heading for the edge.
I sprinted and watched them hit it and leap. They cleared the gap to the next building, landed in a roll, and came up running. The gap was maybe ten feet, maybe twelve, and too far to clear without fully committing.
I hit the edge without slowing and launched.
For one perfect second I was airborne, wind rushing past, Chicago spread out below in a blur of lights, my stomach dropping as my brain screamed that I'd miscalculated.
Then I hit the other side and my hands caught the edge, my body slamming into the wall, pain exploding through my ribs as I scrabbled for purchase with my fingers digging into concrete and my legs kicking. I pulled myself up, rolled over the edge, and came up gasping.
The figure had stopped and was standing thirty feet away, watching and waiting.
I got to my feet on shaking legs, hands bleeding, ribs feeling like they'd cracked again. I could taste copper, and none of it mattered. I started walking toward them. “Nowhere left to run.”
They didn't respond, just stood there with the helmet still on and every feature still anonymous. Then they moved, not away but toward me.
