Adrenaline urged Ethan to quicken his steps, but he forced himself to keep a steady pace, blending into the flow of travelers.
His every instinct screamed at him to bolt, but he knew better—panic was a luxury he couldn't afford.
He didn't know how long he had before the agents found him again. They never stopped looking, not after what had happened.
The stolen bag on his shoulder wasn't just an inconvenience; it was his ticket to survival.
And this was the safest and quickest way he could see, first, it would probably get him some descent clothes.
And maybe he would find some money for the taking and some things that could give him information about everything that is happening right now.
What he lacked was knowledge, even the most basic one, he lacked. And that didn't sit well with him.
As he blended into the crowd of people, he saw a corridor with signs that showed there were toilets there.
Few people were walking in and out of the corridor. The moment Ethan saw this, he knew he had gotten what he wanted.
He took the first opportunity to veer off the main concourse, briskily walking through the long corridor with his head down.
Since there was considerably fewer people in this area, he was now sticking out like a sore thumb in all the people present.
At the far end of the corridor, a security guard emerged, his uniform crisp, his gait casual. Ethan's heart skipped a beat. Was this it? Had he been found already?
He kept walking, forcing his body to stay loose, his expression indifferent. The guard passed by without a glance, and Ethan exhaled silently, his muscles rigid with relief.
Ethan wasted no time, ducking into the nearby restroom the moment he reached one, not even reaching the toilets where he was initially going.
Once inside, Ethan found an empty stall which he rushed into, locking the door behind him.
He leaned against the cold metal, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The stolen bag on his shoulder felt heavier than it should—a reminder of the life he couldn't escape.
He hated the endless cycle of taking and running, but survival didn't allow for regrets.
Ethan's mind struggled to piece together fragments of the last few hours. The blurred faces, the deafening alarm, the frantic escape—it was all a jumbled haze.
How did he end up here? Why did the city feel so alien, yet oddly familiar?
But if he wanted to survive, he had to move, so after a moment of catching his breath, he rifled through the bag.
The bag's contents were sparse but useful: sunglasses, a water bottle, a few granola bars, some crumpled bills in a wallet, and, most importantly, a baseball cap and a change of clothes.
Ethan immediately swapped his hoodie for the cap, tucking his hair beneath it and pulling the brim low over his face.
The fresh clothes were loose but functional, and in the mirror, he barely recognized himself.
He didn't look like a fugitive anymore—just another face in the crowd.
At least that was what he tried to believe, but the generic tattoo on his neck made hi look like a gangster.
He pulled a bandana from the bag, wrapping it loosely around his neck to hide the tattoo that screamed trouble.
Combined with the cap and sunglasses, his reflection in the restroom mirror showed someone unremarkable—just another face in the sea of commuters.
The rest of the bag he stashed in the trash can, wiping it down before leaving the restroom.
After all this, he stood there for a moment, his eyes closed, taking deep breathes. He had to be sober for him to survive.
A few quiet moments later, he made his way out. This time he didn't even try to blend in, but it was seamless.
Outside, the station's exit loomed ahead, sunlight streaming through the archway and spilling onto the pavement.
The brightness felt oppressive, casting sharp light and shadow across the tiled walls and steel tracks.
The train tracks disappear into the distance, flanked by modern buildings on either side. A tram approaching from afar on a steady pace with some pedestrians walking around.
He counted six cameras at the exit—three facing inward, three outward. And now he knew if his face was captured here, his hunters would have him cornered in no time.
He adjusted the cap and kept his head down as he joined the flow of people leaving the station.
He noted the placement of each camera, calculating the angles they covered.
Keeping to the edges of the crowd and tilting his head just enough to obscure his face, he moved like a shadow, careful not to look directly at any lens.
The sidewalk bustled with life: pedestrians dodging each other, vendors hawking their goods, and cyclists weaving through with the sharp trill of bells.
The city's towering skyscrapers loomed like silent sentinels, their mirrored facades reflecting the chaos below.
He walked on for some minutes as he made his way deeper into this unknown city, he had no idea where he was going but right now he was studying the area.
Ethan's eyes darted upward, catching sight of a security camera mounted on a nearby light pole.
He instinctively shifted closer to the edge of the crowd, using the bulk of other bodies to shield himself. His every movement was calculated now, every step another gamble.
The pressure of being hunted was suffocating, but he'd learned to channel it into focus. After all focus kept him alive.
He turned down a narrow side street, his pace quickening as the noise of the main road faded behind him.
A shadow moved in the corner of his eye, just beyond the edge of his vision.
He turned quickly, but the street was as busy as it should be. Still, the feeling of being hunted clung to him like a second skin.
He continued into the alley that stretched before him, lined with dumpsters and locked delivery doors.
The air reeked of garbage and asphalt baked in the sun. Shadows cast by the buildings provided a momentary escape from the relentless heat.
He leaned against the brick wall, taking a moment to catch his breath and make a plan.
He had walked a long distance but he was circling around, trying to understand and get the rough geography of the area.
His mind raced, fragments of memory—or maybe imagination—flickering at the edges of his thoughts.
He didn't know this place, didn't know where he was or where he was going though he now had a plan.
But the city felt alive in a way that unsettled him. Its pulse was chaotic, unpredictable, like his own.
But then he faint sound of voices nearby jolted him back to the present.
He pressed himself behind one of the dumpsters as two figures passed the mouth of the alley, their laughter echoing faintly.
They didn't see him, didn't know he was there, but his muscles stayed tense until they made their way onto a narrow staircase that led up.
It seemed they were just walking by.
But the feeling of being watched clung to him, as if unseen eyes were waiting for a misstep.
Taking a steadying breath, Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets and moved deeper into the alley, emerging on the other side of the street.
Call it paranoia—but he knew for a fact, there were people out there somewhere, waiting for him to slip.
And they would be there to capture him.
Now back on the street, he once again melted into the crowd, each step calculated to blend in.
He was trying as much as possible to get used to this, to get even better at. To an extent of almost disappearing in a crowd.
And unknowingly, he was doing it. He was getting better at melting into the crowd too fast it seemed abnormal.
But then again, nothing about him was normal.
The city pressed in on him—voices overlapping, the acrid scent of exhaust filling the air.
But to him, every sound seemed louder, every face sharper, as if the city itself was conspiring to betray him.
The heat pressed down on him, sweat trickling down his back as he moved with the ebb and flow of pedestrians. His stomach twisted with hunger, but he ignored it.
He'd eat later, when he was safe—if that ever happened. For now, his only goal was to keep moving, to stay unnoticed.
His stomach growled in protest, and his limbs felt leaden with exhaustion. Every step was a battle against his body's demand for rest, but he couldn't afford to stop—not now, not ever.
But right now, his only priority was to find out what was the meaning of the note in his jacket.