Ash ran narrow alleys swallowed him whole, walls pressing close on either side as he cut left, then right, then left again—never in a straight line. His boots struck the ground in sharp, controlled bursts, the sound swallowed by distance as soon as it was made. He adjusted his pace instinctively, light on his feet, never letting his rhythm settle long enough to be tracked.
Overhead, flickering streetlights buzzed weakly, casting broken pools of yellow light across wet concrete. Ash passed through them like a ghost—appearing, vanishing, reappearing—his shadow stretching and snapping back with every step. Darkness stitched the city together between those lights, hiding corners, hiding exits, hiding him.
A dog barked somewhere behind him.
Then another.
The sound echoed down the maze of streets, distorted and sharp, sending a ripple of urgency through his spine. Ash didn't slow. He turned sharply into a thinner passage, shoulder brushing brick, breath steady despite the burn in his chest. His boots barely made a sound now, soles kissing the ground instead of striking it.
Garbage bags burst underfoot. Water splashed from shallow puddles. Rusted fire escapes loomed overhead like skeletal ribs as he passed beneath them. The city felt alive—watching, listening—yet indifferent to his survival.
Ash changed direction again.
And again.
Each turn was deliberate. Each step calculated. He wasn't just running anymore—he was disappearing.
The barking faded.
His lungs burned, each breath scraping raw as air tore through his chest. Pain flared across his shoulder when he slowed, sharp and immediate—the reminder he'd been ignoring. Glass was still embedded in his skin, shifting with every movement, biting deeper when his muscles tensed.
Ash slipped into a narrow alley and stopped.
He leaned back against the cold wall, brick pressing into his spine, head tilting forward as he dragged in air. His breathing was heavy now, uncontrolled for the first time since the chase began. Sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes, mixing with grime and dust.
Slowly, carefully, he reached up.
"Tch—"
A sharp hiss slipped through his teeth as his fingers brushed the wound. Pain flared instantly, hot and vicious.
"Motherfucker…" he muttered under his breath, voice tight, jaw clenched as he forced himself not to stop.
His fingers closed around the jagged fragments lodged in his shoulder. He pulled them free one by one. Each piece came out slick with blood, pain spiking bright and immediate before fading into a dull throb. Shards dropped to the ground at his feet, faint clinks swallowed by the alley's silence.
Blood seeped down his arm, warm against his skin.
Ash steadied himself, forcing his breathing to slow. In. Out. Again. The city pressed close around him—walls, shadows, the distant hum of life continuing without care.
He wasn't safe.
But he wasn't caught.
Not yet.
He needed rest—just enough to steady himself before moving again.
Ash stayed where he was, back pressed to the wall, eyes half-lidded as he forced his breathing under control. He knew he couldn't remain hidden for long. Time worked against him. Every second increased the chance of more men arriving, of the search tightening, of the streets filling with faces he couldn't outrun.
If that happened, he'd be trapped until morning.
Or worse.
If they caught him, there would be no mercy. No restraint. A beating would be the best outcome. Death wasn't impossible—not with men like that, not in a place like this. The thought sat heavy in his gut, cold and real.
So hiding wasn't an option.
That left only two paths.
Escape them completely…
or turn the hunt around.
Pick them off. One at a time. From the dark. On his terms.
Ash straightened slowly, fingers curling, muscles tightening despite the ache.
The two gang members who had been sent left moved cautiously into the narrow alley.
The skinny one led, nerves written all over him. His steps were quick but uncertain, shoulders tight, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow as if expecting something to lunge out at him. Behind him walked the man with the rabbit-like front teeth, slower and more composed, gaze steady, listening more than looking.
They were hunting the same man who had slipped through their fingers moments ago.
They didn't know it yet, but this alley—this exact path—was the one he had taken.
The narrow passage swallowed them whole. Brick walls pressed close on either side, damp and stained, the ground uneven beneath their feet. Water dripped somewhere overhead. The air smelled of rust, garbage, and old rain.
They searched every alley they crossed. Every side path. Every doorway. No shouting. No careless noise. Just boots scraping softly against concrete, hands brushing walls, heads turning in sharp, alert movements.
A dog barked somewhere ahead.
The sound echoed, stretched, then died.
The skinny man flinched.
Another bark followed—closer this time. Louder.
Sweat trickled down his spine. He swallowed and finally broke.
"Hey… let's go back," he muttered, voice low but strained. "We'll just say we didn't find him."
The rabbit-toothed man didn't even look at him.
"If you want, you can go," he said flatly. "I'll keep searching."
The skinny man froze.
His mouth opened, then shut again. He glanced behind them—dark, empty, stretching too far. Then ahead—narrow, twisting, the barking growing louder.
Going alone suddenly felt worse.
He said nothing.
Just nodded once and fell back into step, closer than before.
They kept moving.
The big guy took the right alley without thinking, shoulders scraping brick as he moved. The bearded one followed a step behind, quieter, eyes flicking around instead of locking forward.
Their footsteps echoed.
Too loud.
The big guy slowed near the corner, scanning the empty stretch ahead. His jaw was tight, irritation written all over his face.
"Hey," he muttered, not bothering to look back. "Did you catch anything?"
The bearded man shook his head, eyes sweeping the shadows.
"No. Not a single thing here. What about you?"
"Not here either," the big guy snapped.
Silence hung between them as they walked a few more steps, boots scraping concrete. The alley felt too quiet. Too clean.
The bearded man frowned. "Do you think he took the other side?"
The big guy exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'm thinking the same." He paused, then added, annoyed, "But let's check some more. If we don't get any clue, then we move there."
The bearded man didn't argue. Didn't agree either. He just nodded once.
They kept searching.
Every empty corner made the big guy more restless. Every dead end tightened his shoulders. The longer it took, the worse it felt—like they were wasting time while someone else was slipping further away.
Nothing.
And that was what pissed him off the most.