The thought locks into a single line: he will fall, he will black out, and then they will take him. Drogo breaks into the backyard at a run.

  – Scan by scent. Map every human around us. I move fast. I’m minutes from blacking out.

  – Four behind the house. Two circling the sides. One ahead in the neighboring building. Elderly female.

  He doesn’t slow.

  – Time?

  – Two to three minutes. Same as before.

  The fence snaps under his hands and he lands already turning.

  – Left. Dog. Charging.

  His muscles lock mid-stride. His vision shears sideways. A Labrador launches for his arm. Drogo clamps both jaws with both hands and pulls until cartilage gives. The body drops.

  – Door. Woman opening.

  He cuts his line, drives the door inward as it cracks. Wood hits bone. She folds. Drogo slips inside without stopping, leaves the door ajar, cuts through the rooms and out the kitchen window, over one fence, then another, to the forest side, running the length of the yards until the road breaks open in front of him.

  Houses on both sides. Cars packed tight along the curb. A man steps out of one house, keys in hand, turning toward his car.

  – Only option.

  The driver’s door opens. Drogo comes from behind, locks an arm triangle, crushes the neck until the body goes slack, keeps the pressure, drags him to the trunk and throws him inside. He takes the wheel, pulls off, and turns onto the next street without headlights.

  – Thirty seconds.

  He parks near another house, slides into the back seat, lies flat and stills his breath, waiting for the surge. Waiting for the shift.

  A minute passes. Then another. Then five. Nothing.

  – What’s happening? Why is there no effect?

  – I feel fragments in your stomach. Pieces of Gobby’s heart. They still carry his scent, but nothing else. Just raw meat to your body. Some of it your body rejects. You’ll vomit soon.

  – How is that possible?

  – I don’t know. It feels like the boy keeps his power somewhere other than the heart.

  Heat gathers under his skin with no release, anger knotted with something heavier.

  – Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Two soldiers step into the backyard and read the space at a glance. One tilts his head toward the earpiece.

  – Seventh to Command. He’s not here. He moved forward. Permission to pursue?

  – Command to unit. Permission granted. Begin pursuit.

  They spread around the old woman’s house. A dead dog in the grass. Two take the front door, four slide along the walls.

  – Seventh to Command. Possible movement into the neighboring house. Request entry.

  – We’re moving to your position. Entry confirmed.

  They enter from different sides.

  – Sweep begins.

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  Cerberus reaches the doorway with a police officer.

  – Seventh to Command. House clear. No contact.

  He turns to the officer.

  – Activate all resources. Start a full search. Understood?

  – Understood.

  The officer steps aside and speaks into the radio.

  – Suspect escaped. He’s in the area. All patrols begin search. Check every house. Use caution. Target is dangerous and possibly armed. If you spot him, keep distance and report to me.

  Cerberus switches channels.

  – Base. Visuals?

  – Base to Command. I see you on a camera from the adjacent house. Target jumped the fence toward the forest. No coverage beyond that point. Likely heading west. We’re checking cameras on that street. No movement so far. Either he’s on the next street or moving carefully.

  – Copy. Seal all exits. Monitor cameras. Verify every report.

  He turns to the teams.

  – All remaining units move to the next street. Hold the sector. Two-man elements. Increase spacing to five meters inside each pair. Any contact, report immediately. Each team gets one police officer. Use him for civilian contact. If needed, use him as cover. Acknowledge.

  – Alpha acknowledges.

  – Beta acknowledges.

  – Sigma acknowledges.

  Cerberus faces the officer.

  – Assign three officers. One per team. They speak with homeowners.

  – Understood.

  He keys the radio.

  – Patrol units seven-three-two, three-one-four, eight-one-five. To my position. Confirm.

  – Moving.

  Teams assemble into three-man elements. Weapons settle into ready angles. The formation tightens.

  – Move.

  Drogo’s body jerks in dry spasms. No surge. No release. No answer. The plan collapses and leaves only noise.

  – Calm down. We’re surrounded.

  He freezes.

  – What’s happening?

  – Nine. Three groups of three. Advancing in a line, sweeping the whole block in formation. Two more behind them. Observers. One group is about to pass us.

  – What changed?

  – The man you spared is breathing faster. He’s waking up. Don’t move.

  Drogo stills. Boots scrape on gravel. Shadows slide over parked cars. The group turns toward a nearby house.

  From the back seat he reaches for the trunk latch, threads an arm into the dark. Fabric. Warm skin. He hooks the jacket and drags the body closer. The man stirs, lips part.

  – If you scream, I go back to your house. I wait for your family. I take a hammer and break their skulls one by one in front of you. Then I let you go. You’ll live knowing your mistake killed them.

  His voice is flat. Measured. He saw the ring. The photo of children on the dash. He chose his words because of that.

  The body goes slack.

  Time stretches. Light drains. Sirens pass, blue washing the street in brief pulses.

  – Anyone near?

  – No. Doors shut. Windows empty. You can act.

  Drogo steps out and lifts the trunk. A face looks up, eyes wide and glassed. The stench rolls out thick and sour. The man has lost control. Drogo barely registers it. It isn’t his first victim.

  – Where are your house keys?

  Understanding lands.

  – No… please. I did everything.

  Drogo cuts past the words.

  – Garage. Shed. Anything?

  – Yes. Near the house.

  – Good. We’re going there. Don’t try anything.

  Inside the garage the air is cold and stale. Drogo stops him.

  – Choose. Your family’s lives or the police officers’ lives.

  – My family.

  – Then listen.

  A patrol car crawls along the street, headlights brushing fences and doors.

  A man bursts into the beam, arms flailing.

  – They caught him! The police need help! Hurry or he’ll break free! One officer is hurt, the other can’t hold him!

  The car brakes. Doors slam. One officer runs after the man. The second follows.

  – Call for backup, the first says, turning.

  Drogo is already there. A sharp twist. Bone gives.

  Behind him, the second officer is down. Blood spreads across the asphalt, thin and dark.

  Later.

  Drogo in a police uniform.

  Drogo in a patrol car.

  The patrol car rolls out of the street, lights off.