Fletcher watched Fieva and Ruvo disappear down the other end of the alley and into the safety of other streets. No shooting accompanied their departure, confirming his initial guess: the gunman was after him.

  The sky was a shade of peachy pink with only the first markings of sunrise this early in the morning. He no longer noticed the cold, even wearing shorts, since all his focus was on finding a way to Knarf without getting himself killed in the process.

  Unfortunately, Fletcher was at a big disadvantage—he had no [Skills] that could help. He was only (mostly) Human, and this person had a deadly weapon and likely some type of magic to help them out, neither of which he could hope to match under these circumstances.

  Future Breach Explorers never get scared, he reminded himself as he scanned the rooftops. This might be a time to make an exception to that rule, but Knarf needed him. He couldn’t just leave the [Ogre] to bleed to death while he made his escape. Truthfully, Fletcher wasn’t all too sure he’d be safe even if he ran away depending on the species of the shooter. As Ruvo had already pointed out, he was rather slow compared to most Unhumans.

  “Just grab Knarf and pull him to safety. Easy,” Fletcher murmured to himself in hopes of drumming up some amount of confidence. It was an objectively stupid plan, but there weren’t many other options.

  Before he went out, Fletcher bent down and picked up some fallen stones. He crept to the edge of the alley and then chucked one of them out, making sure it hit the side of a building. As the rock smacked against the wall, he caught sight of the rifle barrel appearing from a rooftop, giving him a sense of where to go for safety once he got Knarf.

  I’ll cause a distraction and then move during that, he decided silently.

  Selecting an even larger projectile, he hurled it out of the alley and into one of the metal street lamps located a good distance away from Knarf. Fletcher dashed out of his hiding spot as soon as the stone left his hand, sprinting to the fallen [Ogre]. A loud clang accompanied the stone slamming into the pole, and a gunshot rang out as he slid next to Knarf.

  “Come on,” he groaned, rolling the [Ogre] over.

  In a feat of strength that surprised even himself, Fletcher dragged his bodyguard to some kind of safety next to the wall of the building with the shooter, keeping them partially hidden from the sniper.

  “Now would be a great time to wake up,” Fletcher said, gently slapping the [Ogre’s] face.

  Knarf moaned, and his brown eyes blinked open in confusion and pain.

  “[Frenzy],” he choked out, and in the next second he was on his feet, roaring to the sky.

  “Get to safety, Mr. Anders,” he cried, grabbing Fletcher’s arm and half throwing him back towards the alley. “I’ll handle this.”

  Another shot sounded, but Knarf, instead of ducking or some other sane action, howled and jumped upwards nearly ten feet to latch onto the wall of the building where the shots were coming from. Green blood leaked from his back, but he showed no sign of recognizing the pain.

  “Why couldn’t I get a [Skill] like that?” Fletcher wondered aloud, his feet slowing to watch the [Ogre].

  His amazement was cut short as the barrel of a rifle appeared over the edge of the rooftop, sending him diving for safety as a bullet smashed into the wall just above him. He remained in the alley, watching as Knarf scaled the last of the building and pulled himself to the roof. The purple skinned [Ogre] disappeared for a moment, wrestling with the shooter, and then one last shot rang out.

  The familiar black mane reappeared at the edge of the roof, and Fletcher released a long breath, but his relief was cut short as he watched Knarf’s body tumble over the edge and thud to the ground with a heavy sound. More blood pooled around him, and from where he stood, Fletcher couldn’t see any sign of life.

  “Oh deities. Knarf,” he whispered.

  This was bad. Really, really bad. What was he supposed to do now?

  He was alone and in a foreign part of the city with no idea of how to get back to safety.

  Fletcher backed up to the other side of the alley where Fieva and Ruvo had gone only a few minutes before. If only he’d gone with them, Knarf might still be alive, but no. Fletcher just had to try being a hero.

  As he poked his head out of the alley to see where he ended up, he found himself staring at a wall of gray fur.

  “Fieva,” he said as he realized it was his friend. Ruvo was nowhere in sight. She must have sent him off and come back to help him. “Thank the deities. Knarf… I think he might be dead, and I don’t know where to go.”

  “I’ll show you exactly where you belong, jemlk’wp,” the [Werewolf] growled, a knife in her hand shooting towards Fletcher’s throat.

  Some never-before-seen-instinct activated, and he dodged the blade, keeping it from the killing blow so instead it plunged into his right shoulder. He gasped, spinning away from her with the knife still in his flesh.

  Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse…

  “Human filth, I’ll kill you,” Fieva screamed, lunging towards him.

  Fletcher may not have been a fast runner, but he was known for exceptionally good reflexes, so he was able to jump and use his momentum to knock the [Werewolf] to the ground.

  Panic overrode his high ideals about finding non-violent solutions to problems, and he put all his force into a swift kick to her head, earning a cry of pain. She pushed off the ground before his next attack could set in, sending Fletcher dodging again.

  Fieva still managed to latch onto him from behind, grappling his good arm to his side as her teeth opened around the back of his neck. Acting on instinct, Fletcher yanked the knife from his shoulder and stabbed it backwards, the blade sinking into something soft as red blood sputtered over him.

  The hold dropped, and he wasted no time in sprinting away. He glanced back to see Fieva fold in on herself, a glint of silver in her throat and red spilling over the front of her body.

  He hated to think it, but his only hope in making it out of this alive was if that had killed her.

  Fieva, his colleague, just tried to kill him. She’d probably been planning this from the start with the request of joining his daily morning jog and then taking him all the way out here. But Fieva was someone he called a friend. If he couldn’t trust her, someone hand selected to work closely with him, who could he trust?

  Fletcher kept running because he didn’t know what else to do. He had no idea where he was or where he was going, but he forced his legs to keep moving, fear fueling him entirely at this point. There was pain in his shoulder, but he wasn’t really aware of it thanks to the adrenaline in his system.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been running when he arrived at the marketplace between the Education Department and his apartment. Fletcher tried to keep going, but he bumped into an [Insectoid] and went tumbling to the ground instead. Blood dripped from his shoulder, staining the stone beneath him as murmurs echoed through the morning shoppers.

  There were so many of them. Unhumans, all of them.

  “Mr. Anders?” a tentative voice asked.

  Fletcher glanced to the side to see the fruit stand [Sylph] coming up to him. He didn’t even know her name. For all he knew, she could be just as much a part of the plot as Fieva.

  “Mr. Anders,” she repeated. “You’re bleeding. Let’s get you some help.”

  Fletcher shook his head as he forced himself back to his feet. He didn’t want her help. She was Unhuman. Surely she wanted him dead, just like the others.

  More panic set in as he glanced around, seeing a crowd of Unhumans forming around him. Freaks who wanted to kill him. He was trapped in a city of killers and Human-haters. Nobody here would help him, not really.

  “Mr. Anders,” the [Sylph] called after him, but he shoved through the crowd until there was enough room he could start running again. He didn’t look back as he kept moving, his feet taking him away from the danger and the monsters who were after him.

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  Buildings, streets, Unhumans.

  Everything around him blurred together as he ran, the movement the only thing keeping him alive. Time passed, the sky lightening and the air growing a little warmer, but still he ran, avoiding anyone who called out or got in his way. Running was the only safety he had.

  At some point, his strength gave out, and Fletcher had to stop. His feet slowed, and he became aware of the pain in his shoulder. Leaning against the nearest wall, he gasped for air and tried not to think about all the blood covering him. His, Fieva’s, and Knarf’s swirled together on the front of his hoodie in a twisted painting. He had no idea where he was, but he didn’t really care.

  “Fletcher,” a woman said, pulling at his focus.

  A warm hand grabbed his arm, and he turned to see the golden, brilliant face of Beam, his girlfriend. Where had she come from?

  “Fletcher. What happened?” she asked, her other hand cupping his face.

  Deities, he was so cold, her touch almost burned his shivering body.

  He shook his head as he tried to back away. He had to get away. Maybe he loved her, but she was an Unhuman, one of them, and that was too much for him right now.

  Fletcher’s feet tried to start running, but Beam was holding him too tightly. She pulled him back, forcing him to face the tears on her face.

  “Let me help you,” she said.

  The emotion in her voice broke through in some small part, and he allowed her to hug him, wrapping his uninjured arm around her back. The last thing he remembered, she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “[Sleep].”

  ***

  Awareness returned slowly to Fletcher. First he became aware of warmth all around him and a soft bed beneath him, and then the intense soreness racking his body forced its way to the forefront of his mind. Before he did something stupid, he paid careful attention to his closed eyes, detecting some amount of light spilling through his eyelids. He was relieved he could safely wake up without spoiling his secret.

  Groaning, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the bright lights above.

  “Oh, finally, Fletching. I wasn’t sure you were going to bother waking up again,” a teasing voice said from next to him.

  He smiled at Beam, her perfect form sitting in a chair right by the bed in the small, unfamiliar bedroom.

  “Good morning,” he croaked before coughing. He moved to sit up with Beam’s help and discovered that his shoulder hurt—a lot.

  “Careful. That shoulder’s going to be sore for a few days. [Heal] works best right after the injuries occur, and since you decided to run everywhere in the city but to help, you’ll have to suffer the consequences now,” the [Jinn] explained.

  Fletcher chuckled as he accepted the glass of water from her. His throat was burning, it was so dry, and the water was just the right temperature to relieve it.

  “Slow.” Beam reached over to keep him from downing it all. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “What happened?” he asked after taking a guided sip.

  Beam smiled softly at him, running one hand through his hair. “Some bozos tried to kill you. But don’t worry, we caught them… well, him. You took care of Fieva yourself.”

  “So she’s…”

  “Yeah,” the [Jinn] confirmed, her hand cupping his face. “But don’t think about it. You did nothing wrong. It was self-defense.”

  “I’m not sure the rest of the city will see it that way,” he muttered. “What about Knarf?”

  “Recovering, same as you.”

  Relief flooded his system upon hearing that his friend was miraculously still alive.

  “I thought he was dead,” Fletcher confessed.

  Beam laughed. “Do you know how tough someone in [Frenzy] is? Honestly, I think Knarf might be out of here before you.”

  “But he got shot and thrown off a building.”

  “And stayed put so help could find him almost immediately. It took us over an hour to track you down, and then another twenty minutes of chasing before I calmed you down,” she replied. “Knarf got [Healed] a lot sooner. Plus we keep [Ogre] blood on hand, but the best we could do for you was [Heal] the injury and hope you hadn’t lost too much blood already.” Beam’s face lost some of its shine, the stress of what she’d gone through finally showing.

  He pulled her hand from his cheek to his lips, kissing her palm, then he looked back to her with a smile. “So what are the chances I’ll get my hoodie back?”

  “That ratty old thing?” Beam chuckled as she leaned forward, placing her forehead against his. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “So, uh, can I ask what exactly you did to me? When you finally caught up. It was a [Skill] right?” Fletcher recalled the single word in his ear that had forced him unconscious in an instant.

  She leaned back. “It was [Suggestion].”

  “That’s a [Social Skill],” he inferred, recalling that [Skills] were divided into four types, [Social], [Physical], [Intellectual], and [Magical]. “And [Jinn] are considered a [Social] species.”

  “Do you really want a [Skill] lesson right now?” Beam asked with raised eyebrows.

  “You know me, always looking to learn,” he replied.

  She shook her head, still smiling. “Yes. Most [Skills] available to [Jinn] are of the [Social] type.”

  “I’m assuming [Ogres] tend towards [Physical Skills].”.

  Beam nodded. “Exactly. And [Elves] lean to [Magic] while [Dwarves] have mostly [Intellectual Skills].” Her hands once again cupped his face. “You really are a giant nerd, you know.”

  “Well you’re the one dating me,” Fletcher reminded her.

  “Forgive me for interrupting.” A new voice drew their attention to where Minister Vi’le stood at the door with his loyal [Bloodhound] guard.

  “Prime Minister,” Beam said stiffly, dropping her hands to her side. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stood and offered one last smile to Fletcher before exiting, leaving him alone with the [Goblin] and [Bloodhound].

  “How are you feeling, Mr. Anders?” Minister Vi’le said, coming to stand by the bed.

  “Better, thank you,” Fletcher answered. “I’m sorry about the trouble.”

  The [Goblin] waved his concern off. “It is no matter. In truth, you have only gained more favor amongst the citizens now that they know you were willing to sacrifice your own life in defense of an Unhuman. And you will not be seen as such a weak target since you managed to kill a full-grown [Werewolf]. A very impressive feat, might I say.”

  “It was not my intention,” he replied tightly, uncomfortable with gaining fame for something as horrific as killing. Ruvo would grow up without a mom now, thanks to him.

  “Regardless, the assassination backfired from what Fieva and her accomplice wanted. The tide swings in your favor, Mr. Anders. While this may draw out a few more radicals, rest assured, you will be well protected,” Vi’le continued, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “There are several guards outside the room and within the hospital, and afterwards you shall continue to have a protector wherever you go now. We must remind the city that you are one of us.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think the Minister set it all up as a political scheme to gain favor for Fletcher’s appointment within the city.

  “The doctors tell me you will be released in two days, and then we will hold a public meeting so the press and citizens can hear the story from your own lips. After that, you will be free to return to your regular work.” The [Goblin] smiled, either not noticing or not caring about Fletcher’s obvious discomfort.

  “Regular work?” he said. “Prime Minister, one of my close colleagues just tried to kill me. I’m not sure I’m eager to go back quite yet or even… ever.”

  Vi’le’s smile faded. “If I may be so bold, Mr. Anders, you don’t strike me as one to turn tail and run when things get hard. And…” His pink eyes meet Fletcher’s green ones, drilling deep into him. “As it happened, with you being the first and only Human allowed within the bounds of Bren’it’p, you have become an ambassador, a representative of Humans as a whole. I think it would be very shameful if you allowed this experience to paint you and all Humans as scared, pitiful beings who can’t handle one teensy mishap.”

  “With all due respect, Prime Minister, I didn’t sign up to be a representative of my whole species, and I definitely didn’t agree to being shot at.” Fletcher sat up more, grimacing. It wasn’t that he wanted to quit, but he just didn’t want to be bullied into going back into something that might lead to his death, which he felt was a justified point of view.

  The [Goblin’s] face turned cold. “Mr. Anders, don’t forget that you are an Unhuman citizen now as well, and with that comes certain responsibilities. I would hate to have to issue a warrant for your arrest for negligence in an assigned post.”

  Fletcher’s lips twitched into a frown. “No. We wouldn’t want that.”

  Curse himself for being stupid enough to do this. It’d seemed so innocent when the job came, just a chance to make a bigger difference in something he cared about, but somehow he still ended up in political schemes. First General Taki wanting him to spy, and now Minister Vi’le parading him around as the Human ambassador to all of the freaking city.

  “I do understand your hesitancy in returning to work, and it would be good for us to have more time to root out any other movements against you without worrying so much about your safety, so why don’t you return home early for your holiday trip, and stay a few extra weeks in Alcett? You’ll return as planned in January and resume work then,” Vi’le offered. “After you’re released from the hospital and we hold the town hall, you can be on the first train back to the Human world.”

  He nodded. Going home for a whole month did sound nice after everything he’d been through, but it would be hard to leave Beam for that long. She would understand though, and it was only going to be a month.

  “I’m glad we could come to an agreement. Rest up, Mr. Anders. It’ll be a busy few days,” Minister Vi’le promised.

  “Will do,” Fletcher said, grateful to see the [Goblin] and his [Bloodhound] leave the room and give him a few moments of peace. It would likely be the last he got for the foreseeable future.