The sound of the collapsing building still pounds in my ears as I run. My breath is fast and sharp, cutting through the cold night air. The backpack slams against my back with every step, the laptop inside pressing against my spine. The Oath isn't just trying to scare me—they want me dead.
The city around me is a maze of flickering streetlights, old brick walls, and neon lights reflecting in puddles from last night's rain. I dart through the alleyways, my boots barely making a sound on the wet pavement.
Behind me, shadows move together. No rushing. No wasted steps. They know me. They know how I fight.
I push harder.
The alley ahead gets narrower. The walls close in. I jump over a chain-link fence, my muscles burning as I hit the ground hard on the other side. I twist as I land, pulling out my Glock 19 and firing two shots at the closest shadow. One body drops, but I don't have time to check.
They keep coming.
A figure lunges from the side. A punch slams into my ribs. Wrong move. My body reacts before I even think, twisting with the hit to absorb the impact. I hook my arm around his, then drive my elbow into his throat. He gurgles, stumbles back.
I don't stop. I grab his wrist, twist it hard, and use his own weight to pull him off balance. Before he can react, I slam my knee into his face.
Two down.
The third is already moving in. I barely get my arm up to block a strike aimed at my head. The hit numbs my entire forearm. He's fast—too fast. I kick his legs out from under him, but he rolls and recovers quickly.
Too quickly.
I know that move. We were trained the same way.
The thought barely registers before he attacks again. A fake left, a real swing right. It's predictable. I should dodge. But I'm slower than I should be.
Pain explodes in my jaw. His punch connects hard. My vision blurs—just for a second, but that's all he needs. His boot slams into my ribs, sending me into the alley wall. My skull hits the brick.
Focus.
I grit my teeth, shift my weight, and push off the wall, launching myself forward. He doesn't expect it. I slam my fist into his throat. He gasps, staggering back.
Before he can recover, I grab him, spin him, and slam his head into the wall.
He slumps.
Three down. But there are more.
My body screams at me to stop, but I can't. I wipe blood from my lip. My mind races.
Who sent them? The government? Julian? Someone else?
One thing is clear—these men weren't here to capture me. They fought with deadly precision. Their strikes were meant to kill. This was an execution team.
I need to get out.
I slip through another alley, scanning the street. Cars rush past, headlights flashing. My pulse pounds in my ears.
A black SUV sits at the curb. Dark windows. Engine running.
It's a trap.
I don't care.
I sprint into traffic, dodging a honking sedan, and yank the SUV's driver-side door open.
The driver—a man in tactical gear—barely has time to react before I slam my fist into his nose. Blood sprays. He slumps forward. Unconscious.
I grab his vest and shove him onto the pavement.
The second I hit the gas, I know I made the right move. The SUV screeches away. In the rearview mirror, more agents rush from the alley.
They were waiting.
I don't slow down.
The city lights blur past as I weave through traffic, my muscles tight, my thoughts racing.
This wasn't random.
They knew exactly where to find me.
And worse—they fought like me.
A cold knot tightens in my gut.
If they were trained the same way I was, that means only one thing.
The Oath isn't just hunting me.
They created me.
And now, they want me erased.