Tap. Tap. Tap.
The boy moved at a blistering pace. His footsteps were practically soundless.
Roland trailed exactly two paces behind. Close enough not to lose sight of the boy's back in the pitch black, yet far enough not to trigger his defensive instincts.
The narrow alleys of the Luminara Capital at night were a dead, suffocating labyrinth. The magical light crystals along the streetlamps were completely dead. Only the crescent moon in the sky offered a meager, silvery glow.
The boy never looked back. He offered no pleasantries or explanations. He simply kept walking.
Roland chose to remain mute as well. However, his eyes were working three times as hard. His brain mapped every corner, every visual marker, and every echoing sound.
A wooden window with a shattered clay flowerpot. Turn left. An abandoned old well with a rusted iron bucket. Turn right. If a worst-case scenario erupted and he had to flee alone, he needed to know the exact route back.
