Aiden woke up to noise.
Not sirens. Not shouting.
Footsteps.
They were muffled, irregular, coming from below his room. Not the steady pace of someone going somewhere, but the stop-start movement of people checking doors, pausing, talking quietly.
That got his attention fast.
He didn't move right away.
He counted steps instead.
One set passed beneath him, then another. At least three people. No heavy boots. No radios loud enough to hear clearly. Whoever they were, they weren't trying to announce themselves.
That ruled out uniformed police.
It didn't rule out anything else.
He slid off the mattress and crouched, putting his weight down carefully. The floorboards creaked once. He froze. The sound didn't repeat.
He waited another thirty seconds.
The footsteps moved toward the front of the building.
That gave him a narrow window.
Aiden grabbed the backpack and eased the door open just enough to look down the hallway. Empty. Dim lighting. The stairwell at the far end was clear.
He didn't go that way.
He turned and opened the bathroom window instead.
The drop wasn't far—one floor down into a narrow service alley—but he still didn't jump. He lowered himself until his arms took the weight, then released slowly.
His feet hit the ground harder than he wanted, but nothing cracked.
Good enough.
He moved immediately, heading away from the street and into the block behind the building. He didn't run. Running drew attention. He kept his pace steady and cut corners when possible.
He reached a side street just as a pair of men stepped out of the building he'd left.
They weren't in uniform. One wore a jacket that looked too expensive for the neighborhood. The other had an earpiece.
That answered that.
Aiden crossed the street without looking back and turned down the first alley he saw. He passed a row of dumpsters, climbed a short fence, and cut through a lot with construction equipment parked in it.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
He slowed only when he reached a busy road and blended into foot traffic.
Nobody followed.
That didn't mean nobody noticed.
By mid-morning, he'd put enough distance between himself and the building to breathe easier. He ducked into a public restroom at a park, washed his face, and checked his phone.
No signal.
That was consistent enough now to be expected.
He powered it off and considered his options.
The people checking the building weren't random. Someone had narrowed his movement enough to get ahead of him. That meant one of two things: either they were very good at guessing, or they had access to partial data he didn't.
Either way, staying in rented rooms wasn't going to work anymore.
He needed a place that didn't register as temporary housing.
Something that didn't involve paperwork.
Something he could leave fast.
He left the park and headed toward the older part of town.
He found what he was looking for near noon.
A closed manufacturing plant on the edge of a rail spur. Windows boarded. Chain-link fence cut in more than one place. No signs of recent activity.
He circled it once, watching for movement.
Nothing.
He slipped through a gap in the fence and entered through a side door that hung crooked on its hinges.
Inside, the air was stale but dry. Plenty of space. Multiple exits. Enough cover to disappear if needed.
He chose a spot near the center where he could see most approaches and dropped the backpack.
This would work for a short stay.
He spent the afternoon testing limits again—but carefully.
Not strength tests. Practical ones.
He leaned against a support column with increasing weight until the metal creaked. He stopped before it bent. He stepped across debris piles slowly, noting how his balance compensated automatically.
He paid attention to mistakes.
When irritation spiked, the environment reacted faster. When he stayed neutral, things behaved normally.
Not calm. Neutral.
That was the difference.
He filed that away.
Late afternoon brought confirmation that the situation was escalating.
He checked the news using a public Wi-Fi network near the plant. The connection was slow, but usable.
The wording had changed again.
"Enhanced individual."
"Non-classified capability."
"Coordination between federal agencies and independent consultants."
No names. No images.
But the shift in language mattered.
They weren't asking what happened anymore.
They were asking who.
Aiden shut the browser and disconnected.
As evening approached, he heard vehicles.
Not passing traffic. Engines idling nearby.
He moved to a higher vantage point inside the plant and watched through a crack in the boarded windows.
Two unmarked SUVs sat near the fence line. Not close enough to be obvious. Close enough to respond quickly.
He counted occupants.
At least four.
That meant the earlier encounter hadn't been coincidence.
They weren't surrounding him yet.
They were waiting.
That told him something else: they didn't know what he could do.
If they did, they wouldn't be this cautious.
He considered leaving immediately.
Then dismissed it.
Leaving now would confirm their guess.
Staying meant they'd have to act first.
He preferred that.
Night fell.
The vehicles stayed.
No lights. No movement.
Aiden ate quietly and stayed off the main floor, moving only when necessary. He kept his breathing slow and his thoughts focused on practical details—routes, exits, blind spots.
He didn't think about what might happen if they came inside.
That was later.
Around ten, his phone vibrated.
Once.
He didn't check it.
Five minutes later, it vibrated again.
He waited until the vibration stopped, then powered the phone on.
One bar.
Unknown:
They're outside because they don't know how close is too close.
Aiden stared at the message.
That confirmed the obvious, which annoyed him.
He typed back.
Then they're smarter than most.
The response took longer this time.
You're not wrong. That's why this matters.
Aiden didn't reply.
He powered the phone off again.
He wasn't interested in advice from someone who couldn't commit to a side.
Just after midnight, one of the SUVs moved.
Not closer. Farther.
The second followed a few minutes later.
They weren't leaving.
They were repositioning.
Aiden adjusted immediately.
He packed everything and moved to a different section of the plant, closer to the rear exit. He didn't rush. He didn't hesitate.
He chose an exit path that put him opposite where the vehicles had gone.
If they came in, they'd come from the front.
He wouldn't be there.
The breach came at 1:17 a.m.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
A door opening. Footsteps. Flashlights sweeping in controlled arcs.
Aiden watched from cover as two men entered, moving cautiously.
No weapons visible.
That didn't mean they weren't armed.
He waited until they split up.
Then he moved.
He didn't fight.
He slipped out through the rear exit, crossed the rail spur, and dropped into a drainage channel on the far side. He stayed low, followed it for several hundred meters, then climbed out near a road that led away from the area.
By the time the vehicles reacted, he was already gone.
He didn't stop moving until dawn.
He crossed into another county on foot and flagged down a rural bus with cash in hand. The driver didn't ask questions.
He sat near the back and kept his head down.
No one followed.
Not this time.
By late morning, he was in a different city again.
Smaller. Quieter.
He found a public storage facility and rented a unit for a month under a fake name. No background check. Cash only.
Inside, he sat on the concrete floor and leaned back against the wall.
This was getting tighter.
Not dangerous yet.
But closer.
He checked the news one last time before cutting his phone off completely.
A new line stood out.
"Consultation with Dr. Adam Brashear is pending."
Aiden stared at the name.
It didn't mean anything to him.
Not yet.
He shut the phone down and set it aside.
Someone was finally asking the right questions.
That meant answers were coming.
Whether he liked them or not.