She lay flat against the tiles, body pressed to cold stone, breath shaking.
Below, torches moved.
Voices cut through the streets.
"Find the girl!"
Suzan's lips twitched—just barely. A thin, exhausted thing.
Still a girl.
Not a prisoner.
Not a thief.
Not a corpse.
Something almost like a laugh caught in her throat…1
and died there.
⸻
She swallowed hard and pushed herself up.
The rooftops stretched ahead, uneven and sloping, familiar in shape but distant in memory. Somewhere beyond them, the noble quarter glowed faintly with steady lantern light.
Order.
Silence.
Safety.
Maybe.
If she could reach it before sunrise…
She moved.
⸻
Her limbs felt wrong. Heavy. Delayed.
Every step came a fraction too slow. Every breath tore through her throat like broken glass.
She slipped.
Caught herself.
Her fingers scraped hard against brick. Warmth spread across her skin.
She didn't look.
Didn't stop.
⸻
Below, soldiers fanned through the streets in widening lines.
Organized.
Patient.
Hunters.
"They're pushing her north!"
"Check the upper routes!"
"She's on the roofs—watch the gaps!"
Suzan's heart slammed harder. Faster.
⸻
She jumped.
The gap barely cleared beneath her feet.
She landed hard, knees buckling, pain exploding up her leg. She nearly collapsed, caught herself, and kept moving.
"Catch her! There!"
Her head snapped toward the voice.
Too late.
A soldier at the far end of the street had seen her, just a silhouette against the sky.
An arrow sliced past her shoulder, tearing cloth and skin.
Another struck stone beside her, sparks jumping.
⸻
She dropped instantly, sliding down the slope of the roof. Tiles shifted under her weight, control slipping.
She hit the edge—
and didn't stop.
She grabbed the ledge.
Missed.
Caught it again.
Barely.
For one terrifying second, she hung.
Then she dropped.
⸻
She hit the ground hard, rolling across smooth stone, air punched from her lungs.
Pain flared everywhere at once.
Her knee screamed.
Her ribs ached.
Her vision blurred.
"Down there!"
⸻
She forced herself up.
Staggered.
Ran.
⸻
The alley ahead was narrow but clean, lined with high stone walls and shuttered windows. No clutter. No cover.
Bad.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Too close.
⸻
She turned—
and nearly ran straight into a guard.
He reached for her. Fast. Certain.
She didn't think.
She twisted.
Her foot slipped on the stone, and she used it—letting herself fall sideways instead of forward.
His hand caught nothing.
She ducked under his arm, spun behind him, and shoved him just enough to throw him off balance.
He stumbled into the wall with a solid thud.
For a split second, everything froze.
⸻
He turned—
expecting her to still be there.
⸻
But she wasn't.
⸻
She stood several steps away now.
Too far.
Out of reach.
⸻
Suzan stared at him, wide-eyed—
like she was the one shocked by what had just happened.
Mocking.
Innocent.
Ridiculous.
⸻
Then—
she giggled.
A soft, breathless, completely out-of-place sound.
____
And raised both hands, waving at him, hoping in her place—
quick, playful—
almost cheerful.
⸻
Then she turned—
and bolted.
⸻
"…What—?!" the guard snapped.
———
Behind her, voices erupted.
"She's here!"
"Move!"
"Cut her off!"
Suzan ran.
Her lungs burned. Her leg dragged slightly now. Her body was failing her—she could feel it.
But something else flickered under the fear.
Sharp.
Alive.
A thrill.
I'm not caught.
⸻
She darted into a wider street—and immediately knew it was a mistake.
Too open.
Too exposed.
She skidded to a stop.
Guards stepped out from every direction.
Not three.
Five.
One ahead. Two from the sides. More closing in behind.
A tightening circle.
Cornered.
Suzan's breath hitched, her chest rising too fast, her vision sharpening instead of blurring.
For a heartbeat, her body locked.
Nowhere to go.
One of the guards stepped forward, already certain, already reaching.
"Got you."
⸻
Suzan's eyes flicked once.
Distance.
Angles.
Timing.
⸻
Then she screamed.
"KYAAAAAA! DON'T HURT ME! THIEF!! SOMEONE HELP!!"
⸻
The sound shattered the street.
High. Sudden. Piercing.
The guard blinked.
Actually blinked.
His hand paused mid-air.
"What—?"
⸻
Windows flew open.
Doors cracked.
Lanterns lifted into the night.
"What's happening?!"
"Who screamed—?"
"Is someone hurt?!"
⸻
The clean, quiet street collapsed into confusion.
Heads turned.
Voices overlapped.
And in that single, perfect moment—
Suzan moved.
⸻
She dropped low—not away, but forward.
Straight at them.
The closest guard reached again.
Too slow.
She slid under his arm, her bare foot skidding across polished stone—pain shot up her injured leg—
she didn't stop.
⸻
She twisted sharply, grabbing his sleeve just long enough to pivot—
using him.
Spinning past him.
⸻
Another guard lunged from the side—
She bent backward—too far, further than her body should allow— his hand missed her by inches
pain tore through her spine, sharp eough to steal her breath—
her muscles shaking as she forced herself back upright—
and she kept moving.
⸻
Someone grabbed for her shoulder—
caught fabric—
her torn sleeve ripped free in their grip.
⸻
She didn't even notice.
⸻
A third guard stepped directly into her path.
Too close.
Too fast.
⸻
Suzan planted one foot—
pain exploded through her knee—
she used it anyway—
pushed off—
and vaulted.
⸻
Her hands hit his shoulder—
she flipped over him—
not clean—
not graceful—
messy—
desperate—
but it worked.
⸻
She landed badly.
Hard.
Her leg buckled.
A sharp gasp tore from her throat—
⸻
She kept going.
⸻
Behind her—
"What is she doing?!"
"Grab her!"
"She's right there!"
⸻
Suzan stumbled once—
caught herself—
then, just for a split second—
she looked back.
⸻
And made a face at them.
A quick, exhausted, completely ridiculous little grimace sticking her tongue out.
⸻
The nearest guard just stared.
"…Did she just—?"
⸻
She was already past him.
A shadow slipping between bodies.
Someone gasped as she brushed past them. Another stepped back too late.
By the time the guards broke through the crowd—
she was gone.
"HEY!"
"STOP HER!"
Too late.
⸻
Suzan didn't look back.
A wild smirk flickered across her face as she ran.
Pain burned through her leg. Her lungs screamed. Her body trembled on the edge of collapse.
But she was still moving.
Still free.
And for second—
she almost felt alive. Free. Herself.
⸻
She didn't stop.
She turned once.
Then again.
Then slipped through a narrow passage barely visible between two stone facades.
⸻
The noise faded.
Gradually.
Until silence returned.
Different now.
Calmer.
Controlled.
⸻
Suzan slowed.
Not by choice.
Her body forced it.
Step.
Step.
Stagger.
She stopped, leaning heavily against a wall, her breath wheezing. A cough tore through her chest, sharp and painful.
The fear of being chased still clung to her.
Still watching.
Still close
⸻
Then she moved again.
Quieter now.
Keeping to shadows.
Cutting through servant paths, narrow passages between noble houses—places guards wouldn't expect someone desperate enough to notice.
Behind her, the hunt spread wider.
But less focused.
⸻
And for the first time since the cell—
Suzan wasn't just running.
She was choosing where to go.
⸻
She reached the edge of the noble quarter without realizing it.
The change was immediate.
The streets widened.
The cobblestones smoothed—polished, clean.
Lanterns burned steady and golden.
No shouting.
No running.
No chaos.
No one expected her here.
⸻
Suzan leaned briefly against a wall, breath shaking, vision swimming.
"The best place to hide…" she whispered hoarsely,
"…is under their nose."
⸻
She pushed herself forward again.
And disappeared into the quiet.