The pink was still dripping from my collar when I hit full sprint.
People were shouting, sidestepping, pulling phones out to film—but I didn't have time to care. The girl ahead of me had already crossed the street, darting between a delivery van and a honking sedan, backpack bouncing against her shoulder blades with every stride. She moved fast, too fast for a casual student. Low to the ground, knees high, arms tight to her ribs. Efficient. Practiced.
She wasn't just running.
She'd done this before.
I vaulted over a short railing, cut across a flower stall, and followed her lead onto the next sidewalk. "Move!" I barked at a crowd of teens in my way, shoving past them before they could react. One of them shouted my name—my real name—but it sounded distant, drowned by my own pulse in my ears.
She banked left.
An alley.
Tight.
No space to maneuver.
Good.
