Zeno broke into a sprint.
There were screams and chaos behind him, but he tuned them out. His legs moved like clockwork, the sidewalk a blur beneath his feet.
His hair, previously a little tousled from the wind, now looked like it had been styled for a slow-motion shampoo commercial. He zipped past shocked pedestrians, dodging food carts, toddlers, pigeons—whatever fate threw his way—with ease.
Ahead, the clown burglar was still running full speed, zigzagging through the crowd. He was actually pretty fast. Fast enough that people had given up.
Except someone hadn't.
The clown thief felt it.
That strange, crawling feeling at the back of his neck.
The crowd was still screaming behind, but something was different. The pounding of one pair of feet was consistent.
'No way,' he thought. No one should be that fast. He only stole a bag! A tiny, tiny bag! It wasn't even designer! He had done this trick three times this week, and not once did someone chase him like this.
