Runaway (2)

"I'll take them back," Jaren muttered. "You scout ahead."

Lindarion hesitated. His breath caught on a broken rib.

But he nodded.

Then vanished.

Darkness affinity rippled across his skin like a low hum, shrouding him in a loose shadow that blurred his outline. He darted up the collapsed frame of a wall and landed in a crouch on the next roof, scanning the streets.

What he saw made his stomach tighten.

Three mutants.

One wore half a uniform. Or had. The cloth was shredded, but the metal insignia still clung to its shoulder, some poor captain, twisted into something with too many joints.

They weren't shambling.

They moved like soldiers.

The lead one sniffed the air.

"Eastward sweep. Two blocks. Target pattern zero-three."

They spoke.

Not fluent. Not with emotion. But with intent.

'They're trained.'

Lindarion dropped down silently to the far side of the roof and reached for the bond.