The night air burned in his lungs.
Ryan stumbled forward, one hand pressed against the jagged wall of a crumbling alleyway, the other clutched at his side. Every breath felt like fire, sharp and uneven, tearing at his chest. His vision swam, streets melting into shadows. He hadn't made it far. He knew that. But it was far enough that he didn't know where he was anymore.
Far enough that Damien's men hadn't caught up to him. Yet.
His clothes were soaked with sweat and dirt, his shirt torn from catching on a fence during the escape. One of his shoes was missing. He couldn't even remember where he lost it. Blood trickled from his lip, he must have bitten it when he fell the last time.
He kept looking over his shoulder, convinced he'd see someone in a black coat rounding the corner, eyes cold, hand already reaching for him. But the alley stayed empty. Only the echo of his unsteady footsteps filled the silence.
