The soot in the ventilation shafts was suffocating, but Alaric moved with the silence of a shadow. Behind him, Evelyn held onto his belt, her breathing shallow. Below them, the sound of the Inquisitors destroying Varkas's lab faded as they climbed higher toward the exhaust fans.
"We can't stay in the vents," Alaric whispered, his voice vibrating with a low, metallic hum. "They'll smoke us out eventually."
He kicked open the heavy iron grate at the end of the shaft. They emerged onto the sloped, rusted roof of the apothecary tower. The city of Oakhaven's Shadow stretched out beneath them—a forest of chimneys, steam pipes, and jagged metal.
"Look," Evelyn pointed toward the North Gate.
A flare of silver light shot into the sky. It was the signal of the Order of the Silver Rose. Sir Gareth had officially begun the hunt.
"The city is being sealed," Alaric said, his vertical pupils expanding to take in the dim light of the evening. "We need to get to the lower districts. The steam-works will hide our heat signatures."
Suddenly, a crossbow bolt hissed through the air, clanging against the metal roof just inches from Alaric's foot. On the neighboring roof, three scouts in light leather armor were already reloaded.
"There! The heretic and the witch!" one of them shouted.
Alaric didn't have his sword; it was still hidden in the basement. He looked at his hands—the nails were sharper, the skin tougher. The limiter on his arm pulsed with a warning heat, but he ignored it.
"Hold on to me," Alaric commanded.
He didn't wait for Evelyn to answer. He scooped her up and leaped. To a normal human, the gap between the buildings was impossible—a thirty-foot drop into an alleyway of jagged scrap. But Alaric's legs, reinforced with Chimera muscle and dragon bone, propelled them through the air like a catapult.
They landed with a heavy thud on a copper-plated dome. Alaric didn't stop. He ran across the pipes, his movements a blur of superhuman speed. When the scouts fired again, he didn't dodge; he reached out and caught a bolt mid-air, snapping the wood in his fist.
"Alaric, your arm!" Evelyn cried out.
The cold-iron limiter was turning white-hot. The friction between his surging mana and the suppression runes was reaching a breaking point.
"I can... handle it..." Alaric wheezed, but his eyes were glowing a dangerous, piercing gold.
They reached the edge of the industrial district, where a massive waterfall of boiling waste-water tumbled into the lower pits. It was a curtain of thick, grey steam.
"Jump!" Alaric yelled.
They plummeted into the mist just as a squad of Silver Rose knights reached the rooftop. For a moment, Alaric felt the weightlessness of the fall, and his bound wings twitched beneath his cloak, screaming to be unfurled. He fought the urge, hitting the water with the force of a falling star, sinking deep into the warm, murky depths of the city's underbelly.