Ten minutes after the thief vanished into the night, three figures materialized on the roof of the Marcuset estate. They wore skin-tight, soundless black leather that absorbed the moonlight. These were Samuel's personal hounds.
The shadow leader knelt, pulling a thick piece of dark violet alchemical glass from his pouch. He held it to his eye. Through the lens, the iron padlock and the stone wall were painted with violent, glowing green handprints.
The leader signaled his men. The hunt was on.
But as they leapt across the first gap, a cold drop of water hit the leader's cheek. A light, misty drizzle began to fall over the capital.
The leader swore silently. The phosphorus powder was highly advanced, but it was water-soluble. The glowing tracks on the clay roof tiles were already beginning to blur and wash away under the rain. The hunt had just turned into a desperate, high-speed ticking clock.
