Two weeks on, Baldur’s Gate crushes around Kynes in salt air, shouting stalls, and wet stone. No vault hum answers here, only ordinary hunger and coin.
A flash of grey fabric slips into a narrow alley ahead, half-lost in fog and fish stink. The shape matches the redirection trail they have been chasing.
Kynes
That route was masked on purpose.
Slaan and Nhal close in beside him, both already reading the alley like a wound in the market wall. Bren angles through the crowd, cutting off the easy escape.
At the alley mouth, a dropped scrap of grey cloth clings to a brass tack, freshly snagged. Beneath it, a chalk-mark points deeper into the fog, then abruptly breaks, as if someone scrubbed the rest away.
Slaan
Someone hid the rest of the path here. They wanted us to miss what comes next.
Nhal lifts her head, shadow-still, and indicates the turn with a single, sharp gesture. The quarry is still ahead, and the false turn now has a place, a method, and a direction.
Corner the grey-gloved figure in the alley