While Makun sat in a cell of the Bureau, Zack York, the guy he met at the Night Market, the very first person he had an altercation with in the mystic world, the guy who had marked him and wanted to hurt him through a mirror, was walking downtown.
Zack moved through the crowd with his hands buried in the pockets of his coat, head down, shoulders tight. The afternoon light cut through the gaps between buildings, throwing long shadows across the pavement.
Around him the city moved like it always did. Vendors called out prices from their stalls, hawking fried hot dog and roasted beef. A woman in a yellow headwrap haggled with a fruit seller over the price of mangoes. While some others listened a band playing music in the street.
Two men in construction vests laughed as they passed, one slapping the other on the back. A scooter rumbled past, belching black smoke, and a group of schoolkids darted across the street, their bags bouncing on their backs.
Zack ignored all of it.
