Rain needles the alley as the siren grows louder. Jax clamps onto Dream David's arm and points up at the fire escape. Above the steam, a cold drone hum sharpens in the dark.
Jax
Move. Now. That's the extraction sound.
A shape glides over the alley mouth, a Department of Special Containment drone skimming low with its light already searching. The fry cook backs toward the kitchen door, eyes wide at the sky.
the fry cook
I am not getting involved with that thing.
The drone's beam catches the wet bricks, then brushes the edge of Dream David's wings. Somewhere behind it, more boots are coming. Sanctuary is no longer a thought, it is a race.
Jax
If you can get to the roof, I can buy you a second.
The fire escape rattles in the rain, one climb away from the open air. Below, the alley is about to become a trap.
Get to the roof