The elevator hummed downward, but something was wrong.
Sathvic's eyes narrowed. He tapped the panel.
"Ground floor's too obvious," he muttered, and hit the 1st floor button.
Zorion blinked. "What are you—"
"He triggered an alarm," Sathvic cut in. "The cleaner. I saw his hand go to the wall behind the mop bucket."
A beat.
"They're probably waiting for us at the ground floor."
Zorion's heart dropped. Alethea's gaze sharpened.
Ding.
First floor.
Doors slid open. They burst out like a flood released.
Alethea scanned fast. "If the 1st and 2nd floor layouts are the same—then a balcony should be—"
She turned.
"That way!"
They sprinted.
Behind them, boots thundered.
The first-floor guard had been tailing them, and now, backup was pouring in. Radios crackled. The chase had begun.
Sathvic led the charge, coat flapping.
Zorion right behind, Inaya gripping his shoulders from his back, her rabbit clutched tightly in hand.
Alethea brought up the rear—but then—
Crash.
She slammed into a receptionist rounding the corner. She stumbled back, her hood flying off, mask slipping with it.
The receptionist gasped, recognition dawning.
"She's—she's the girl from earlier! The one asking about Indran kids!"
A guard lunged.
Alethea twisted—but too late. He grabbed her arm. Her mask hit the floor.
They struggled—grunts, heavy breaths, panic.
"Let me go!" she hissed.
The guard tightened his grip.
But Alethea planted her heel and drove it hard into his gut.
The man staggered.
She ripped free.
Zorion and Sathvic had reached the wide balcony doors—glass pushed open to cool night air.
Sathvic turned. "Now!"
He jumped. Landed hard—but rolled.
Zorion followed, flipping Inaya to his front to shield her as they dropped.
The landing jarred every bone—but they were alive.
Alethea sprinted up behind, face exposed. No time.
She jumped.
Behind her, guards shouted. The receptionist stared, pale and frozen.
The three of them hit the ground. Staggered. Kept running.
---
Inside the building…
The rest of the security rushed up the stairs, meeting the winded first-floor guard.
"They jumped," he gasped, pointing. "You idiots should've gone outside!"
---
Outside…
They were still running.
Through the dim hospital garden. Past benches. Through hedges. Inaya clung to Zorion's chest, silent but trusting.
No more elevators. No more alarms.
Just moonlight. Footsteps. Freedom.
At least for now.
They moved fast through alleyways and narrow roads, bodies aching but pace unbroken.
Zorion looked to Sathvic. "Are we just… running? Or do we have a place?"
Sathvic didn't answer for a second.
Then:
"There's a car. Four blocks down. Eucliea's waiting."
Zorion's eyebrows raised.
"You planned this far ahead?"
Sathvic shrugged. "You think I only dress well?"
Alethea cracked a short laugh, even as she held her bruised side.
Zorion exhaled, looking back once more at Inaya—safe, alert, staring quietly at the moon.
Her voice was soft. "Are you all angels?"
"No," Zorion smiled faintly. "Just very bad rule-followers."
They tore through the garden, breath ragged, hearts slamming against their chests.
Then—
Flash. Flash.
Headlights blinked twice in the distance, near the far gate.
A parked car. Black. Boxy. Slightly crooked like it didn't belong.
Sathvic didn't even slow down.
"That's the one. Eucliea's in there!"
Zorion yelled as they ran, "How the hell do you know?!"
"The flickering lights!"
Alethea shot Sathvic a wide-eyed glance mid-run—impressed despite everything.
Of course he'd plan even blink signals into an escape.
They didn't stop.
The car doors flung open the moment they neared. Eucliea's head popped from the driver's seat, hair a mess, eyes frantic.
"Get in, NOW!"
They piled in—Sathvic front seat, Zorion and Alethea in the back with Inaya.
The car screeched out a second later.
Zorion tore off his mask and flung his head back, sucking air like he hadn't breathed in years.
"It's so hard to breathe in a mask," he groaned like he'd just survived a warzone.
"That's not a complaint. That's a fact."
A beat.
He looked around the car—old seats, cracked dashboard, faint smell of burnt rubber.
He squinted at Eucliea.
"Wait… hey, Eucliea? I thought you were rich."
He gestured around with a dramatic flourish.
"What is this scrappy junk metal you're calling a car?!"
A beat.
"Even Warne has a better car than this."
Eucliea didn't look back. Her hands stayed firm on the wheel, but her tone was dry as ever.
"It's not mine. I rented it under a fake name from a shady place near the Zaherran slums."
Alethea smirked. "Smart."
Zorion blinked. "Wow. That's… incredibly illegal."
Eucliea, deadpan:
"Do you want me to turn this incredibly illegal car around and give you back to the guards for the legal stuff you guys pulled off?"