Chapter 146
Chase (5)
Henry began to slow his pace, not from exhaustion, but because a dense wall of noise and movement had formed ahead of him. The murmur of hundreds of voices carried on the wind, swelling into shouts and chants as he drew closer. Then he saw it—a crowd spilling across the street like a living tide. Placards bobbed above heads, some hand-painted with angry slogans, others crudely scrawled in thick marker.
It wasn't just a crowd. It was a protest.
They were heading toward one of the government buildings to demand answers. Voices rose above the hum, asking the questions everyone had been wondering about : Who can be trusted? How could the government fail to protect one of the country's most important military sites—The Hold ? And worse—if that fortress could be infiltrated by moles, what about everywhere else?
Henry's gaze swept over the crowd, measuring it in seconds. He glanced over his shoulder—then slipped along the edge of the mass, disappearing into the tangle of bodies and banners.
The four pursuers arrived moments later, breathless and scanning the street.
"I think he went in that direction, where the crowd is?" one of them started.
"Shit… how are we supposed to find him in there?"
"I don't know, but before he gets any further away, we've got to go!"
"Guys… is this even worth it? My back hurts and I just want to go home." another had said cautiously.
A sharp smack landed on the complainer's head.
"One more out of you… We can't just let four random dudes humiliate us and walk away like nothing happened."
With that, they pushed forward, melting into the protest.
And after a minute or two, a figure exited from the crowd, going back the way they had came from.
It was Henry.
From the fringe of the assembly, Henry had watched them go. He'd stayed close enough to see them enter but far enough to avoid their line of sight, blending in with a cluster of bystanders holding signs. A minute later, when he was sure all four had been swallowed by the flow of the march, Henry slipped out—back the way he came.
The reversal was almost laughably simple. They would be combing the crowd for him, never suspecting he'd already turned his back on them entirely. Even if they realized, they'd be minutes too late.
He moved with easy, unhurried steps, putting distance between himself and the noise of the demonstration. His destination was clear—Hope Academy. After the day's chaos, there was no reason to stir up more trouble. His heart rate eased, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Today had been eventful enough.
...
The group of four pushed their way through the trees, branches swaying back into place behind them, leaves crunching underfoot. They emerged into a narrow clearing, pausing as if the sudden openness demanded caution. For a moment, no one spoke — just the quiet rustle of the forest and the distant caw of a bird somewhere overhead.
Finally, one of them broke the silence.
"He probably won't use the open path," he said, glancing toward the narrow dirt tail. His tone was confident as though the idea was obvious. "He'll go off it in a random direction to throw us off."
Another shifted his weight uncomfortably, hands twitching at his sides, and replied with a stammer. "B-b-but… what if he actually wants us to think that? And… and he actually went down the normal path?" His voice cracked on the last word, the uncertainty in it pulling a few skeptical looks from the others.
A third snorted softly, as if unable to take the suggestion seriously. "No way. That would make no sense. It's obvious he'd go off the path." He folded his arms, clearly satisfied with his conclusion.
But the stammering one refused to let it drop. "But what if… that's too obvious?" he pressed, his words tumbling out quickly now. "What if he decided to go down the normal path because it would seem unlikely?"
There was a sharp intake of breath from the third man, followed by an incredulous, "What are you—"
Before he could launch into a proper insult, the fourth member of the group stepped forward with an impatient wave of his hand, cutting off the argument before it spiraled further. "Okay, okay. Enough. Let's split into twos — one pair on the path, the other off the path. Alright?" His tone was a thin thread of authority holding the group together.
The stammering one immediately raised another question, tilting his head toward the endless spread of trees. "But… which direction off the path did he go? Left or right?"
The fourth let out a grunt, stained with annoyance. "No more questions. You take the right, he takes the left. We'll go down the path. And move quickly — or else it'll be impossible to find him in this place."
Without another word, they broke apart, the forest swallowing them in three different directions — feet pounding against the uneven ground.
Moments later, when the last echo of their footsteps had faded, the forest fell back into its hushed rhythm. Somewhere above, a faint rustling of leaves stirred in the canopy. Then, with a sudden drop and the soft thump of shoes meeting earth, Yohan landed from the high branches of a tree. He straightened with a low grunt, brushing stray leaves from his hair, one stubborn twig catching momentarily in the strands before he flicked it away.
Both guesses had been wrong. He hadn't gone left. He hadn't gone right. He had simply gone up.
From his perch above, Yohan had watched their bickering with the silent amusement of a predator watching prey scurry in the wrong direction. The corners of his mouth lifted into a cold smile as he turned away, the fading sunlight catching in his striking blue eye — a brief, sharp glint before it vanished again into the shadowed trees.
...
Reuel didn't hesitate.
With the kind of reckless decisiveness that only comes from desperation—or sheer confidence—he darted straight into the road. Horns blared instantly, a sharp, discordant chorus of irritation and alarm that seemed to chase him with every step. Drivers leaned on their horns, some shouting out their windows, others jerking their vehicles slightly in his direction as if to scare him back.
But Reuel wasn't intimidated. He wove through the chaos with an ease that almost looked choreographed with his movements completely fluid. He slipped between moving cars with the kind of close timing that made your breath catch, vanishing into the gaps between bumpers as though he'd been doing this his whole life.
The group of three behind him, however, were far less eager to test their luck. The leader took one step forward, flinched at the sudden whoosh of a passing car, and instantly retreated. The other two exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unwilling to follow Reuel's death-defying dash. Instead, they clustered together on the curb, fidgeting impatiently as they waited for the pedestrian lights to turn green. Every second of waiting felt longer than it should.
When the light finally changed, they surged forward, crossing in a tense, hurried jog. Once safely on the other side, they immediately began scanning the area, eyes darting up and down the street. They searched the alleyways, glanced over parked cars, even checked the reflections in shop windows as if Reuel might suddenly materialise there.
But there was nothing. Not a glimpse. Not a shadow. Not even the faintest suggestion that he'd been there at all.
Frustration boiled over in the leader. His heel came down hard against the pavement in a angry stomp.
"Damn it!" he growled, his voice loud enough to turn a few curious heads from passersby. "I swear, from the Nine Moons and back, I'm going to kill them!"
His two companions moved quickly, closing in on either side of him, trying to temper his anger with muttered reassurances. They patted his shoulders, spoke in calm, low tones—though the occasional glance they exchanged suggested they weren't entirely convinced they'd succeed in cooling him down.
As their small huddle continued, a taxi rolled past with its engine humming evenly. It blended perfectly into the flow of city traffic, it was neither flashy nor remarkable, and so the group's eyes slid right over it without a second thought.
The driver, humming faintly to himself, didn't even notice the three bystanders glaring at the air. The taxi carried on, steady in its course, heading toward its destination: Hope Academy...
If only the leader had known.
If only he'd glanced a second longer, if only his anger hadn't pulled his gaze away.
Because the very person fueling his rage—the source of every curse he'd muttered in the last ten minutes—had just passed by within arm's reach, sitting behind that glass pane.
And if only he'd realised it… well, his frustration might have turned into something far, far worse.
...
IAM couldn't shake them. No matter how many turns he took or how hard he pushed his legs, his pursuers stuck to him like they were tied together by some invisible cord.
And the reason was painfully obvious.
That guy... The one at the very front.
The one whose pride—and other parts—he'd stomped on earlier.
The man's limp was pronounced, but it didn't slow him down nearly enough. Somehow, against all common sense and medical logic, he moved at a relentless pace, never once letting IAM out of his sights. It was as if the entire world had faded into nothing for him. His gaze was locked on IAM with a single-minded ferocity.
And with him as the spearhead, the other three behind fell naturally into rhythm. They didn't have to search—he was their living compass, dragging them after him by the gravity of his obsession.
IAM could feel his own endurance starting to falter. His legs burned and his lungs screamed for oxygen but he kept pushing forward.
Regret began creeping in, a gnawing realization that helping those people earlier had led him straight into this mess. This was the consequence of his actions, no way around it.
He veered sharply, taking a tight right turn, then another, and another, committing to a single direction as if stubbornness alone could throw them off. But their footsteps followed without hesitation, that steady beat of pursuit ringing in his ears.
Then, ahead, a sight that made his lungs feel just a little less on fire.
Ahead, a dense crowd of protesters had gathered, their banners waving and voices rising in protest. The sight of them gave him a flicker of hope. If he could push through, maybe the chaos of the crowd would slow down the pursuers, if only for a few moments.
This happened to be the crowd Henry had used to shake off his pursueres...
IAM didn't slow down. He plunged into the crowd without hesitation, forcing his way through gaps barely wide enough for him, shoving shoulders aside when necessary. Protesters stumbled, muttered complaints, some throwing annoyed glances his way, but he didn't care. Every second counted.
The problem was… the "balls guy" didn't care either. The limping man ploughed through after him, matching his every weave through the bodies. The other three mirrored him, their faces twisted with grim determination.
IAM gritted his teeth and pressed on. His focus narrowed to a single goal: get out the other side. Lose them. Disappear before they could push through too. He zigzagged between banners and elbows, ducked under an outstretched arm holding a megaphone, and skirted around a woman in a long coat waving a sign almost directly in his path.
Suddenly, IAM collided with someone who didn't move aside like the others. The impact jarred him slightly, and he instinctively stepped back.
The man he'd bumped into rubbed his head and glaring at IAM."Shit, watch where you're going, fool."
IAM barely registered the words. He shifted to step past, already scanning for the quickest way forward—but he caught it.
The man's expression had changed. His eyes narrowed, sweeping across IAM's face with sudden recognition.
And then it happened...
They both realised at the exact same moment.
Without hesitation, he shouted:
"Over here!! I found one! Not the one we were looking for, but I found one!"
Before IAM could react, voices rang out from multiple directions.
"Really? Where!?"
"I'm coming over! Do not move!!"
"Keep him there!"
The man he had bumped into chuckled lightly, clearly enjoying himself, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
IAM's eyes darkened. That shout had done more damage tha n the guy could have understood—it hadn't just alerted the people in front, it had told the ones behind exactly where to go.
"This is just my luck," he muttered under his breath. There was no clear way out… and in that moment, IAM knew he was trapped, forced to face whatever was coming from all sides.