The predator lifted slightly into the air, then surged forward with a sudden burst of speed. Jason was already bracing for Tahuuk to block so he could counter—

  —but Tahuuk leapt aside instead.

  Jason reacted instantly, diving the opposite way as talons sliced through the space where they had stood.

  Only then did Jason see the blood.

  Three shallow, diagonal cuts marked Tahuuk’s chest, thin lines seeping light blue. The bird must have caught him off guard when they first crossed paths.

  But the ground told another story.

  Dark blood—thicker, not Tahuuk's—was smeared through the grass. The avian predator was wounded too, and judging by its size, it wouldn’t last much longer.

  The creature screeched and climbed again, twisting its body midair in sharp, unnatural angles. It whiffed and darted, contorting to strike from blind spots.

  Again, the duo scattered.

  Talons tore through the air, missing them by mere centimeters.

  Once more, the bird arced upward, preparing for another fly-by.

  Jason slowed his breathing, centering himself. The familiar edge of hyperfocus brushed his senses—but then he noticed something wrong.

  The predator was flying lower.

  Too low.

  It clipped the ground, tumbled, and rolled through the dirt. When it staggered upright, its movements were erratic, uncoordinated—pure instinct clinging to the last scraps of survival.

  It collapsed again, body twitching with a few final, involuntary spasms.

  Jason exhaled slowly.

  Good. He hadn’t needed hyperfocus. Using it now would have drained him too deeply—it was a final measure, reserved for overwhelming threats.

  Tahuuk approached the fallen creature and drove his spear down once more, clean and decisive. Certain it was dead, he hoisted it up and began butchering it with practiced efficiency.

  Sakura stepped out from behind Hakuro, who had instinctively shielded her during the fight. Once the danger passed, Hakuro relaxed and circled their perimeter, checking for movement, listening for anything that might have been drawn by the noise.

  Not long after, they sat around a small campfire, watching strips of meat cook over the flames.

  “Guess we’re all pretty hungry,” Jason muttered.

  No one disagreed. Every gaze stayed fixed on the pan.

  They were exhausted. Tahuuk quietly treated his wounds with a paste made from crushed plants and resin. Jason watched, struck by how natural the process seemed—how instinctive survival was for him.

  When the meat was ready, Sakura ate with renewed appetite, though fatigue still lingered in her eyes.

  They rested only briefly, rotating watch every thirty minutes.

  When Jason took the first shift, he glanced at Sakura. Determination settled over the sadness in his expression. He would protect her.

  Sakura noticed. Her gaze followed him as he stepped away from the fire.

  A few hours later, camp was broken.

  Only a short distance remained before they reached the city of Bastille.

  They moved along the road while keeping to the forest’s edge. The treeline was dense in places, thinning into open stretches where moonlight and starlight illuminated their path. Using artificial light now would only draw attention.

  Traffic was sparse at first—but after a little more than an hour, it increased.

  Lights flickered on the horizon.

  Ships arriving. Ships departing.

  They were close.

  Soon, armed patrols appeared along the road. City guards. More inns and bars clustered here—likely serving travelers waiting for entry.

  Then Bastille came into view.

  Light poured over the fortified walls. Skyscrapers pierced the night sky. Spotlights swept methodically along the battlements while patrol ships drifted overhead. Even at this hour, the city pulsed with life.

  Jason stared, awed.

  Ironwood was nothing compared to this.

  As his eyes adjusted, something felt off. One patrol ship moved differently than the others—its design distinct from the guards’ armor and the checkpoint infrastructure below.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Jason scanned the soldiers.

  Most were uniform.

  But a few, standing farther back, weren’t.

  His gaze dropped to the swords at their sides—then flicked to Hakuro’s katana.

  They matched.

  “Hey,” Jason murmured, nodding toward them. “I think those are the ones you mentioned earlier.”

  Hakuro squinted, then sighed. “Yes. Probably.”

  Jason glanced at Tahuuk. How were they supposed to get through that?

  Hakuro caught the look. “Don’t worry. We don’t need to enter the city.”

  He hesitated. “We have… a different pilot. He asked us to meet on the western side.”

  Jason checked his datapad. West—construction zones. Quiet. Unguarded.

  Perfect.

  They slipped away from the treeline, avoiding the main road and checkpoint. Most people paid them no mind in the darkness. They were far enough not to draw attention—

  —but Jason felt a chill crawl down his spine.

  He kept glancing back.

  The guards.

  The travelers.

  The line at the checkpoint.

  Then he saw him.

  A thin man, about Jason’s height, wrapped in a trench coat and wide-brimmed hat. Smoke curled from beneath the brim. He was scrolling through a datapad—

  —and froze.

  Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head.

  Two orange lights burned beneath the shadow of the hat, scanning.

  Jason’s breath caught.

  “Run,” he said quietly—but sharply.

  The man drew a revolver in one smooth motion. High-tech. The barrel glowed orange.

  Jason triggered hyperfocus.

  A bullet was already there.

  He twisted aside as it grazed his cheek—

  —and only then did the crack of the gunshot rip through the air.

  “Gun!” guards shouted, weapons snapping up.

  The man stared at Jason, genuinely surprised, as Jason sprinted away with the others.

  “Huh,” he muttered, voice rough and low.

  “I never miss.”

  The guards swarmed him within seconds, weapons raised, movements sharp and practiced.

  “Lay down your weapon and keep your hands visible!” one of them shouted.

  The man clicked his tongue in mild annoyance—but complied. He placed the revolver on the ground with deliberate care. One of the guards stepped forward and swept a flashlight over him, revealing grey, lightly thinned skin and large, pitch-black eyes. When the weapon left his hand, it became clear he had only four fingers, slightly longer than a human’s, jointed slightly differently.

  “I have a permit,” he said calmly, the cigarette still resting between his lips. “It’s on my datapad.”

  The guards didn’t relax. One approached slowly, every movement measured, and took the datapad only after a nod from the others. He scanned the information—and froze.

  His eyes widened just a fraction.

  He looked up again. “Everything checks out.” Then, after a beat, “We’ll mark you on our side so this doesn’t happen again. Apologies for the inconvenience… Valion.”

  The guards stepped back, returning to their posts.

  Valion gave a brief nod, picked up his revolver, and holstered it with an ease that spoke of long familiarity.

  When he straightened, two figures stood directly in his path.

  Soldiers—Eastern Dominion. Katanas at their sides.

  They raised their datapads, projecting two faces. “Did you see these individuals among the group that fled?” one asked, tone clipped.

  Valion regarded them with dull indifference. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it aside. “I’m here for a bounty I was hired to hunt. Those two aren’t on my list.”

  He stepped past them without waiting for permission.

  A hand slammed into the left side of his chest, stopping him—and pushing him back a step.

  “That wasn’t the question,” the soldier said, voice firm. “Did you see them?”

  Valion exhaled slowly. His jaw tightened. For a moment, it seemed he might not answer at all.

  Then he sighed. “Fine. Yes. They were with that group.” He shot them a sideways glance. “Happy now, mate?”

  The soldiers exchanged words in their native tongue—too fast, too sharp for Valion to follow. He didn’t wait for the conclusion. His bounty was already moving, and time was a currency he didn’t waste.

  Jason and the others were already nearing the construction zone when they stopped inside a half-finished ground floor, chests heaving.

  “You’re bleeding!” Sakura exclaimed, stepping toward him. “Are you alright?”

  Jason wiped the thin line of blood from his cheek. “I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry.”

  He scanned the shadows, the open spaces, the skeletal buildings rising around them. Tahuuk did the same.

  “We need to reach that pilot,” Jason said, turning to Hakuro.

  Hakuro was already digging through his inner pockets. He pulled out a folded slip of paper. “Jordalon—Building C.”

  Jason glanced around until he spotted a site map bolted to a concrete pillar. His eyes traced it quickly.

  Building C lay on the far side of the zone.

  Too far. Too open.

  A straight run would expose them completely. Taking cover through the buildings would slow them down—and give Valion time to close the distance.

  Jason’s mind raced. Every option collapsed in on itself.

  Until only one remained.

  He turned to Sakura.

  “We have to split up.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “That hunter is after me and Tahuuk,” Jason said steadily. “I’ll draw him away. You and Hakuro follow Tahuuk to the pilot.”

  Tahuuk’s expression tightened—pain flickering beneath acceptance.

  Sakura stepped closer, disbelief giving way to fear. “No… you can’t leave now.” Her voice broke as tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t want to say goodbye already.”

  She didn’t say anything else. She just looked at him.

  Jason felt his chest tighten. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re the priority. We took the contract.”

  He met Tahuuk’s gaze.

  Tahuuk nodded once—then grabbed Sakura’s arm and pulled her back. “Move,” he said, firm but gentle, forcing her and Hakuro toward the pilot’s route.

  Sakura stumbled, then ran—casting one last look over her shoulder.

  Jason stood where he was, watching them disappear.

  On the horizon, silhouetted against the dim lights of the construction site, a man in a trench coat and wide-brimmed hat walked forward at an unhurried pace.