Ivor ran.
Not straight.
At the first turn he took it without slowing, boots scraping stone as he cut hard into a narrow side street. The pain in his leg flared with every step, sharp and insistent, but he kept moving, adjusting his stride just enough to keep from stumbling. Blood soaked into the torn fabric below his knee and dripped onto the ground behind him in dark, uneven drops.
He took another turn. Then another.
The streets here were tighter, buildings leaning close, their upper floors blotting out most of the sky. People stopped when they saw him pass. Some turned their heads. Others slowed, eyes following the blood trailing from his leg, the way his jaw was clenched tight against pain. No one tried to stop him. No one called out.
He didn't look at them.
At the next corner, he spotted a cart parked tight against the wall, its bed stacked with thick wooden logs bound together with ropes. He veered toward it and slipped behind the cart, pressing himself into the narrow space between wood and stone.
For a moment, he stood still.
His chest rose and fell hard as he listened. Footsteps echoed somewhere farther down the street. Voices murmured. Nothing urgent.
He looked down.
The fabric of his pants below the knee was shredded and soaked through. Dark blue bruising had already spread beneath the skin where the claws had caught him.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth and tore a long strip from the ruined fabric of his pants. The cloth came free with a sharp rip. He folded it quickly, then wrapped it tight around his leg above the wound.
When he pulled it snug, pain flared hard, a sharp pinch that sent heat shooting up his thigh. His vision blurred for a moment, but he didn't loosen his grip. He tied the knot firmly and pressed down until the bleeding slowed, his hands steady despite the tremor running through them.
Only then did he ease his hold, testing the pressure once before letting out a slow breath.
His heartbeat slowed, settling into a steadier rhythm. The street sounds crept back in, distant and ordinary.
But the feeling didn't fade.
The sense that something was wrong lingered. If anything, it felt clearer now, no longer drowned out by pain and motion. And layered over it was something else.
Attention.
He lifted his head slowly, eyes scanning the narrow street, the windows above, the corners he couldn't see from where he crouched. The air felt unchanged, but his skin prickled all the same. He was being watched.
'The wolf was not alone.' he thought.
He tightened his grip on the dagger and scanned the street again, searching for somewhere to run or hide. There was nothing. No open doors. No alleys deep enough to disappear into. The narrow street offered no cover beyond the cart he had already used.
So he moved.
Ivor slipped out from behind the cart and started running again, putting distance between himself and the registration building. He didn't panic and lose his sense of direction. He kept track of every turn he took, every corner he cut through.
Four turns.
That was all that separated him from the building now.
And behind him, the blood trail ended at the cart.
He pushed harder, ignoring the pull in his injured leg, his breathing turning rough as his eyes swept over the houses and side paths ahead, searching for anything that could hide him long enough to break pursuit.
Finally, he found a narrow street without people moving in and out of it.
Ivor turned into the street without slowing.
The space between the two storage houses was tight, the walls rising close on either side, blotting out most of the light. Broken crates lay scattered along the ground. Near the center of the passage sat a large boulder, rough and uneven, abandoned where it had been dragged and left.
He moved toward the boulder, steps slowing as he closed the distance.
The street was quiet here. The city's noise faded into a dull murmur behind thick stone walls, and for a brief moment the pressure behind his eyes eased, just enough for him to think he might have found a place to hide.
Then it hit him.
The smell of danger.
Sharp and sudden, like a warning driven straight into his senses.
Ivor stopped and turned.
A man stood at the far end of the street, already inside it. Hood pulled low. Black clothes that blended too easily with the shadow around him. He hadn't heard him arrive. Hadn't felt the approach until it was already done.
The man chuckled softly.
"Good," he said. "I was wondering how to get you somewhere quiet."
He didn't wait for a response.
He stepped forward once and lunged.
His dagger flashed out, fast and precise, aimed straight for Ivor's throat. There was no hesitation in the movement. This wasn't an attack meant to frighten or wound.
It was meant to end him.
Steel rang out.
A blade cut across the space between them, striking the dagger hard enough to knock it off its line. The edge passed Ivor's face by inches, close enough that he felt the air shift against his skin.
He stumbled backward, shock stealing his balance. His shoulder slammed into the boulder. He barely managed to stay upright.
Another figure stood between him and the attacker now.
Also hooded. Taller. Broader through the shoulders. A sword held low in one hand, its dark surface catching what little light reached the street.
Neither man spoke.
They moved at the same time.
The dagger wielder twisted aside, shadow sliding with him, his form blurring for an instant as he slipped past the sword's edge. The swordsman followed, stepping in, his blade cutting a clean arc through the air where the other had been a heartbeat earlier.
They clashed again.
Steel met steel in short, sharp impacts, the sound swallowed quickly by the narrow walls. Shadows bent and stretched unnaturally around them, clinging to limbs, dragging at movement.
Ivor slid down against the boulder, legs weak beneath him. He couldn't follow everything they were doing. Only fragments. A shift of weight. A blur of motion. The way the shadows moved like extensions of their bodies rather than absence of light.
The man with the dagger broke away and slashed outward.
Black tore through the air.
It was a clean, flat cut, a crescent of shadow moving faster than thought, aimed straight toward Ivor. He didn't have time to react.
Suddenly, the swordsman stamped his foot into the stone.
Ivor's own shadow lurched.
It wrapped around his leg and yanked hard, dragging him down against the ground. His vision jolted as his shoulder struck stone.
The shadow slash passed overhead.
It struck the boulder behind him and sliced clean through it. Stone split apart as if it were damp clay, the top half sliding away with a grinding sound before crashing to the ground.
The street fell still for half a heartbeat.
Then the fight resumed.
The two figures collided again. Ivor stayed down, breath ragged, heart hammering. He had run from a beast.
And found something far worse waiting for him.