Something was wrong with every teleporter I had ever met. They all suffered from the same delusion: that disappearing made them unpredictable. It didn't. It just meant you stopped reading the person and started reading the pattern.
Mute had been level three. Toddy was level five. Higher level, same fundamental mistake.
"What are you going to do about it, bitch?" Toddy sneered, clearly savoring the word as it rolled off his tongue.
"Teach you a lesson your parents were too lazy and too rich to bother with," I replied calmly.
"Fuck you." He raised his middle finger, thick and deliberate, the gesture practiced and comfortable.
"After today," I said, locking eyes with him, "you won't be raising that finger at anyone for a long time."
He disappeared. I lost him immediately.
Level five was faster than level three, the intervals shorter, the repositioning cleaner. I tracked the air where he'd been and found nothing useful.
Left. Left. Left. Right.
