Ezekiel didn't bother picking up the cardboard box he had dropped. He simply stepped over the mess and continued walking, putting his glasses on and then made his fingers mechanically adjust the dark frames of it.
A few minutes later, the city air gave way to the cool, subterranean draft of the subway station.
He stood quietly near the edge of the platform, a line figure blending seamlessly into the evening rush hour.
To any passerby, Ezekiel looked like an ordinary low-level desk worker just walking.
A moment later, the chaotic sound of the station shifted. Someone was barreling toward him from behind.
In reality, Ezekiel had sensed the approaching presence several meters away. His internal radar, honed through years of lethal encounters, had mapped the stranger's movement instantly.
