She doesn’t know how it’s possible, but she’s found out. The tall, uniformed man standing on the small mound, surveying the frantic activity around him, has locked his piercing gray eyes onto hers with such intensity that she can’t look away. It’s like she's hypnotized. And yet, she doesn’t feel afraid. Not really. Not half as afraid as she knows she must feel. She wants to trust those eyes. She really, really wants to trust them, because looking in them, she’s suddenly aware of how tired she really is.
For as long as she can remember, she has been the protector. Even at a very young age, she was the one who took care of her family, shielding them from rebels, soldiers, tyrants, and sadists. But now, for the first time in her life, she senses how comforting it would feel to be protected herself—by someone like the man in uniform, looking at her with his stern, earnest eyes.
The urge is so strong that she almost crawls up from under the truck. But then her eyes snap back to Scroptz, barking orders to everyone around him. No! She can't trust a man who takes orders from someone she loathes so deeply. She has to stick to the plan. She made her friends a promise—they'll meet in the science classroom, and a promise is a promise.
She has only one option left, the Max-option: charge forward without a plan, without thinking, and hope it all works out somehow. With some effort, she breaks eye contact with the gray-eyed man, turns her body toward the gate, sends a prayer to all her mother’s gods, and sprints away.
There she goes, light and fast, running like the wind, almost invisible, barely touching the ground as she weaves around legs and equipment. From the corner of her eye, she notices the gray-eyed man calmly finishing his conversation.
The gate is approaching fast—she’s going to make it. But then, completely unexpected, she crashes into a wheelbarrow with such force that it knocks the wind out of her. The man pushing the wheelbarrow shouts in surprise, pointing at her lying on the ground, suddenly visible and gasping for air. People turn toward her, some already stepping forward, shouting warnings.
Shadow struggles to her feet, muscles tensed, arms raised, and fists clenched, ready to fight. But before anyone can approach, a sharp, high-pitched whistle cuts through the air, stopping everyone in their tracks. Instantly, the soldiers fall silently into two straight lines, facing the gray man who stands, unmoving, with the whistle hanging loosely from his lips. Even the dogs in their cages have fallen silent.
Shadow has no idea why he did it, and she doesn’t care. This is a chance she never thought she’d get. Turning invisible again, she sprints toward the gate, ignoring the pain in her side. Still nobody moves. Even the soldier blocking the entrance doesn’t try to stop her—not even when she pushes him aside.
The square is as empty as ever. The distance to the front door is short. Maybe she’ll actually make it.
One last time, she glances over her shoulder to assess her chances, only to see Scroptz looking around in utter bewilderment. The loss of control visibly confuses and enrages him, yet his anger seems to impress no one. The soldiers now respond solely to one man, who raises his whistle to his lips once more.
In perfect coordination, the soldiers step aside in unison, creating a pathway, leading straight to her. Only then does she realize the depth of her mistake. The gray man hasn’t saved her; he has claimed her… for himself.
He takes his first deliberate step toward her, seamlessly accelerating into an athletic sprint—fluid, majestic, inevitable.
In a burst of panic, Shadow chooses the shortest route to the door, cutting straight across the square, grateful for her lightness and speed, sensing how the black tiles beneath her reach up to grab her.
When she reaches the door she slams it open and rushes into the dark corridors. Behind her, the door opens again, far too soon for comfort. Without looking back, she darts around one corner, then another, and yet another, praying she has enough of a head start. She figures she has a chance—she’s small, fast, and young and although the gray man appeared well-trained, he also seemed, well... rather old.
She strains to listen, trying to discern if the gray man is closing in. But instead of footsteps pursuing her, she catches only the sound of soft, controlled breathing and a rhythmic ticking against the floor. When she finally glances over her shoulder, her muscles nearly give out as she instantly realizes that her escape attempt is utterly doomed. She’s no longer being pursued by a man. She’s hunted down by an enormous, magnificent, well-trained wolf—a lethal beast with steely gray eyes locked onto her. The same eyes that had spotted her back in the square, even when she had been invisible.