Friday night. Dark Town District.
Fyar ran. Each breath was hot and painful in his lungs. The throbbing pain from his injured left shoulder now spread through his entire upper arm.
He turned sharply into a narrow alley between two tall, decaying stone buildings. This alley was dark, lit only by the dim glow from the crystal lanterns on the main street far behind him. The air here smelled foul, a sharp mix of ammonia, rotting garbage, and a clogged sewer.
He stopped, leaning his tired back against the cold, damp stone wall.
I have to get out of the city. I have to move to the second plan. I have to contact Zaefal... no. That might be risky. I have to execute the second plan first!
Fyar narrowed his eyes slightly behind the mask. There are two possibilities. It was Whitening or Martis. But Martis... why? Whitening... she was clearly Whitening. Her goal? Who hired her?
"HE'S THERE! DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
