I tear after him, vaulting over a stack of empty pallets. His transformation isn't instant – more like his body is catching up with what his brain demanded. Bones shifting under skin, muscles reconfiguring themselves. It's disturbing to watch, but also weirdly fascinating. And slow. Just slow enough that I might have a chance.

  He's heading for the stairwell at the far end of the level. I cut diagonally across the open space, trying to intercept him before he reaches it. My feet pound the concrete, sending jolts up through my legs. Concrete's never forgiving, but neither am I. Or something.

  Elias glances back, spots me gaining. His face contorts in concentration, and suddenly his legs complete their transformation – thick, powerful snow leopard hindquarters bursting through his shredded jeans. He puts on a burst of speed that leaves me in the dust.

  "Shit," I mutter, pushing harder.

  He reaches the stairwell and bounds upward, taking the steps three at a time. I follow, my lungs already burning. This is going to be one of those nights.

  By the time I reach the third level, I've lost visual. But I can still track him – blood spatter on the concrete, fresh droplets. His wound has definitely reopened, probably from the strain of the transformation, or just how hard his new legs pound the ground. The trail leads upward, toward the roof.

  My phone buzzes again in my pocket. I ignore it.

  Fourth level. Fifth. Then a final staircase leading to a heavy metal door propped open with a broken cinder block. Cool night air rushes in. I burst through the doorway onto the flat roof, scanning for movement.

  Elias stands at the far edge, silhouetted against the city lights. His transformation is complete now - snow leopard legs, and vast bird wings for arms. A vulture? He looks back at me, and even in the dim light, I can see the desperation in his eyes.

  "Don't," I call out, moving slowly forward. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

  He doesn't say anything. He just jumps.

  I sprint to the edge just in time to see him gliding awkwardly to the adjacent building - a drop of maybe fifteen feet to a lower roof. Human body weight and bird wings don't mix, so he's less "flying" and more "falling a little slower". He lands hard but keeps moving, already transforming his legs into something new - mountain lion, maybe, built for sprinting and jumping.

  I look down at the gap between buildings. Fifteen feet across, fifteen feet down. Doable. Probably.

  My phone buzzes yet again. I pull it out, glancing quickly.

  Mom: IS EVERYTHING OKAY

  Dad: If you don't reply in 30 minutes we're calling the police.

  Great. Okay. One sec.

  "Just feeding Derek. Wolf mode needed doggy treats. Got mad. All good."

  I stuff the phone back into my pocket and back up a few steps, getting a running start. Then I'm airborne, leaping across the gap, the night air rushing past my face, the street far below. For a moment, I'm weightless, suspended between buildings like there's puppet strings in the clouds.

  Then gravity takes hold again, and I'm plummeting toward the lower roof. I hit hard, rolling to absorb the impact, just like they taught me at the Young Defenders. A sharp pain shoots up my legs, but it's already fading. I know when I've broken an ankle. I'm fine.

  Elias is already at the next gap, bigger this time. Maybe twenty feet across to another building of similar height. He hesitates just long enough for me to gain ground, then takes the leap, his makeshift wings spreading to catch the air.

  I follow without hesitation, the adrenaline drowning out the voice of reason. This jump is harder - farther, with no height advantage. I put everything into it, driving off my back leg, arms pumping.

  For a terrifying second, I think I've misjudged. The opposite edge seems to hover just out of reach, my momentum fading. Then my foot catches the edge, and I'm scrambling, fingernails scraping concrete as I haul myself up.

  Elias glances back, genuine surprise on his face. He clearly didn't expect me to make that jump. Join the club, buddy.

  The chase continues across the rooftops near South Street, a jungle gym of different heights and configurations. Elias has the advantage with his transformations, able to adapt to each challenge. But he's tiring, I can tell. The strain of maintaining those forms, of constant transformation, is taking its toll. And he's still bleeding, even through his bandage. The air is too clear for him. I can see him like a sniper.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I'm gaining, slowly but surely. My regeneration keeps me going even as my muscles scream in protest. My training keeps me rolling safe. Learning how to parkour effectively was one of the first things the Young Defenders taught me, even before the combat training, and I've got the lactic acid advantage he's missing. It's just like slipping into an old pair of shoes.

  We reach a wider gap - twenty, maybe twenty-five feet to a building that's a full story lower. Elias doesn't hesitate this time. He spreads his wings - not to fly, but to catch just enough air to flatten his arc, dragging out the fall by a fraction of a second. It's not graceful, but it gets him across, like some monstrous gargoyle come to life.

  I skid to a stop at the edge, looking down. The drop is significant - probably three stories to the alley below. The opposite roof is within jumping range, but the margin for error is razor-thin.

  If I fall, I'll get over it. Just don't land on your neck, Sam.

  My phone buzzes again. I ignore it.

  I back up, getting the maximum runway possible. Then I'm running full-tilt toward the edge, pushing off with everything I have.

  The world slows down as I sail through the air, the gap yawning beneath me like a mouth ready to swallow me whole. I'm not going to make it. The realization hits me mid-flight, too late to change anything.

  I hit the opposite building just below the roofline, slamming into the brick wall with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs. My fingers scrabble desperately for purchase, finding the edge of the rooftop. I hang there, feet dangling, the alley a dizzying distance below. G-d bless pull-ups.

  Above me, I hear Elias pause. Is he going to help? For a second, I think he might. Then I hear his pawsteps retreating across the roof.

  "Thanks a lot," I mutter, pulling myself up with trembling arms. I manage to get a foot purchased just enough on the gap between bricks, then push upward, catching the edge of the roof. With one final effort, I haul myself over, rolling onto my back, gasping.

  Elias is already two buildings away, his form blending with the shadows. I force myself back to my feet, ignoring the protests from my abused muscles. Regeneration or not, physics still applies, and I've just thrown myself down like a mile of rooftops.

  I chase him across three more rooftops, the gap between us closing. He's slowing down, his transformations becoming less complete, less effective.

  Then we reach another large gap - this one crossing over an actual street, a two-lane that's just not possible to jump. Not for either of us. The street below is still chaotic, but less so than earlier. Pockets of activity rather than full-scale riot. Elias looks back at me, then at the gap, clearly calculating his chances. Trying to think of one last trick.

  "Give it up, Elias," I call, moving slowly toward him. "You're exhausted. You're bleeding. This chase ends here."

  He looks down at his leg, where blood has soaked through his shredded jeans. "Looks like it," he says, resignation in his voice.

  I take another step forward. "Come quietly. I'll make sure you're treated fairly."

  "Just like Derek, right?" he asks bitterly. "Locked in a cage every night?"

  "Derek chooses that," I say. "It's the responsible thing to do."

  "And what about my choices?" he demands. "Does personal liberty mean nothing to you?"

  I'm close enough now that I could lunge for him if I needed to. "Not when it hurts other people."

  He looks at me for a long moment, then smiles slightly. "Good answer."

  Before I can react, he crouches and transforms again - his legs lengthening, becoming something else entirely. Kangaroo, maybe? Then he's gone, launching himself not across the gap but down, toward the street below. A turtle shell, bulky bear arms. He slams into the ground like a human cannonball, sending people screaming and scattering. He stumbles on landing but keeps moving, disappearing into the crowd.

  "Dammit!" I slam my fist against the low wall encircling the roof. So much for the direct approach.

  My phone vibrates once more. I finally pull it out.

  Dad: I'm coming to get you. Send your location NOW. If you are in trouble please let me know so I can ram it with my car.

  It's 9:50 PM. Ten minutes until curfew, and I'm stuck on a roof on South Street with no easy way down that doesn't involve more parkour.

  I text back: Running late. Near South Street. Will meet you at home. Sorry!

  I add my location through the family sharing app as an afterthought, just to show I'm making an effort. Then I look for the fire escape, the sensible way down that I should have considered before launching myself across the Philadelphia skyline.

  I find it on the north side of the building, rusted but serviceable. As I begin the climb down, my phone buzzes yet again.

  Dad: South street???

  Fuck.

  I reach the alley below and pause, trying to get my bearings. South Street is directly ahead, still bustling with activity despite - or maybe because of - the night's chaos. Should I try to find a clear spot where my parents can pick me up without getting caught in whatever's still going on?

  I can still see Elias, but he's rapidly reaching the edge of my radius. I can chase him, but then my parents are going to try and question why I am not at South Street where I said I was. They're going to see me running on the GPS and get scared. And my costume is going to raise questions I don't want to answer, but there's no time to change. I'll just have to hope my parents are too relieved to see me to ask why I'm dressed as Bloodhound.

  I need to make a decision. Right as I settle on going for Elias, consequences be damned, something shoves me down the other branch of the decision tree. A red blur, slamming into me from the side at what feels like sixty miles an hour, sending me flying through the air. The world spins, a smear of street lights and shadows, before I crash into something metal with a deafening clang. A dumpster, maybe. People scatter around me like bowling balls, fleeing, parting the crowded sea.

  "Don't worry, love. Backup's here," Rush Order says, tilting his glasses at me until they gleam in the yellow streetlights.