The gates were still rising when Raizen moved.
He ducked under the half-open bar, boots hitting concrete, and sprinted straight for the left lane - tight corners, low ceilings, bad visibility. The kind of place where speed and angles decided everything.
Behind him, the crowd was still roaring. The host was still shouting jokes into a hundred microphones. None of it mattered.
The left lane met him almost immediately. A cracked stairwell leaned into the passage like it was trying to fall. Hanging cables brushed his shoulders. Old concrete dust sat in the air and made the light look dirty.
A Shade waited just past the first bend, pressed into a dark corner like it thought it was clever.
Thin arms. Wrong-looking elbows. Head tilted too far.
Raizen didn't slow down.
