Ludwig's speed was unnerving. Despite the chaos and the bustling streets filled with panicked citizens, he moved with uncanny agility, weaving through the crowd with a precision that Alva could barely match. Her lungs burned as she struggled to keep pace, her breath coming in labored gasps, though she prided herself on her endurance as a swordswoman.
Yet Ludwig didn't even seem winded.
When he finally came to a halt at the mouth of a shadowy alley, she nearly stumbled to a stop behind him, her hands braced on her knees as she fought to catch her breath. The alley opened into a dim, narrow street where silence reigned, a stark contrast to the distant cacophony of the masquerade's turmoil.
"Hold on a bit!" she wheezed.
Ludwig turned to her, his finger pressed against his lips. "We're close," he whispered, his eyes fixed on an unassuming building at the end of the darkened lane.
Alva followed his gaze. "That place?"
