Chapter 13 – A VERY Noticeable Exit.

Lyon dove down with his wings, his beak aimed at a gap between two soldiers, calculating the fastest trajectory to break out of the ring of people and vanish into the night.

Two meters to go.

A meter and a half.

One meter.

And then he felt the air.

It blew all at once, from top to bottom, with a force that wasn't natural. A steady, dense current that pushed his wings inward and crushed his body against itself, forcing him to flap twice as fast just to keep from plummeting into the asphalt.

'What the—?'

"Uh-oh," the voice inside his head murmured, in a tone that was neither mockery nor surprise, but something in between. "That's not normal wind."

'I noticed.'

"It's mana."

'I noticed.'

"And it's really dense mana, on top of that. Someone's manipulating the air with some pretty serious precision."

'I NOTICED.'

Lyon turned the bat's head with effort and saw her.

Cya.

Cya was still standing in the same spot, half a step in front of the press conference podium, with the microphones still hanging in front of her and the camera lights lighting up her uniform.

Her arms, however, weren't raised the way they had been before. She had them stretched out forward, palms open toward Lyon, and her fingers were slightly curved, barely moving, as if she were holding an invisible rope.

And that invisible rope was pulling on him.

Lyon felt, on top of the wind crushing him, a little tug.

A soft but firm little tug that forced him to spin left in the air, as if someone had tied a thread to his wing and was slowly reeling him in.

'No, no, no, no.'

Lyon beat his wings harder, tried to twist right, up, anywhere that wasn't toward Cya, but every move of his was countered by the air.

Every time he went up four inches, the wind pushed him five inches down. Every time he tried to bolt sideways, the current curved him back toward the center.

And that center was Cya.

Lyon did a full spin in the air, without meaning to.

Then another.

Then half a one more, backward.

The reporters below started shouting things Lyon couldn't quite make out, because the whistle of the wind was getting into the bat's ears and drowning out almost everything else, but he did catch a few stray words.

"He's got her!"

"He's pulling her in!"

"She's using wind magic! Oh my God, she's using wind magic live on air!"

'Could you stop spinning?' Lyon thought, his head woozy.

"Me?" the voice replied, indignant. "I'm not spinning, sweetheart. YOU'RE spinning. I'm sitting on the couch watching it all from in here."

'Help me!'

"How?"

'I don't know, do something!'

"Lyon, I depend on the body too. And the body is being pushed by a pretty solid technique, honestly. That Cya knows what she's doing."

'That's the WORST thing you could say right now!'

Cya curled her fingers a little more.

And the invisible thread went taut.

Lyon felt the wind squeeze tighter around him and shove him forward, downward, toward that open hand that was now so close he could see the lines on her palm, the creases of her knuckles, and the matte shine of Cya's short, clean nails.

Half a meter.

Thirty centimeters.

Twenty.

Ten.

Lyon felt the warmth of that hand against the tip of his wing.

Almost.

A finger moved, ready to close around the little body.

And Lyon reacted.

Fwoop.

The red light wrapped around him without warning, without a plan, without a second thought, because it was the last card he had left, and his survival instinct steamrolled his instinct to stay hidden.

The bat vanished. In its place, dropping out of the air half an inch from Cya's hand, appeared a girl.

A girl with white hair, wide red eyes, and her whole body covered by what was left of the raincoat after the earlier explosion, which is to say, barely anything.

Barely anything.

The jacket was in shreds. The t-shirt hung off one shoulder with just one sleeve still intact, while the other side of her torso was straight-up exposed, showing pale skin from her shoulder down to the bra line, which was a plain gray bra, picked out that morning by Lyon with strictly comfort-based, non-aesthetic criteria.

The shorts, singed at the edges, had ridden up a bit during the fall and were showing more thigh than Lyon was willing to show anyone, much less an entire press conference.

Lyon landed on his feet on the asphalt of the highway.

Thud.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

A silence so thick you could clearly hear the buzzing of the camera lights and the distant crackle of a loudspeaker someone had left on.

Lyon looked forward.

Cya was standing half a meter from him, her hand still stretched out in the air, her red eyes open just a hair wider than she usually kept them, and her mouth slightly parted, as if she were halfway through saying something and didn't know what came next.

Behind Cya, the officers with gold badges had the same expression.

The soldiers in helmets had the same expression.

The reporters had the same expression.

The onlookers behind the police line had the same expression.

And every television camera was still pointed at Lyon.

Every single one.

All of them.

And inside Lyon's head, the voice exploded.

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—"

'SHUT UP.'

"BAHAHAHAHA! BAHAHAHA! I CAN'T! I CAN'T! OH, BY EVERY VAMPIRE IN EXISTENCE, I CAN'T!"

'SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP.'

"YOU'RE ON NATIONAL TELEVISION IN YOUR UNDERWEAR!"

'I KNOW! I KNOW I'M ON NATIONAL TELEVISION IN MY UNDERWEAR!'

"AND A GRAY BRA! A GRAY BRA, LYON! OF ALL THE BRAS IN THE WORLD, YOU PUT ON THE GRAY ONE! THE UGLIEST ONE YOU OWN!"

'IT'S THE MOST COMFORTABLE!'

"WHO CARES ABOUT COMFORT RIGHT NOW?!"

Cya got her voice back first.

Or rather, she didn't fully get it back. She moved her lips, took in a bit of air, and said, in a voice a touch quieter than the one she'd been using through the whole press conference:

"...The Night Watcher?"

Lyon blinked from under the white hair.

'Night Watcher?'

"Aw, look, she knows you by your nickname," the voice commented, still chuckling under her breath. "How cute. They're probably in the same forums as your friends."

'Even SHE knows that nickname?'

"Lyon, half the internet knows that nickname. I've told you like five times. You don't listen."

'I thought it was just in the groups where people upload videos!'

"Sweetheart, your anonymous little face with the sunglasses has fan art. Get with the program."

'FAN ART?!'

Cya took half a step toward him.

It was a small step. A step of recognition, as if she were confirming with her own eyes that what she was seeing was real. The hand still stretched in the air still hadn't fully come down.

"It's you," Cya said, a little more sure now. "You're the Night Watcher. The same person who showed up at the worm attack this morning. The same person who's been killing monsters all over the city without registering."

Lyon didn't answer.

Because inside his head, at that moment, there were about five things happening at the same time.

One, the embarrassment. Two, the panic. Three, the voice laughing. Four, the urgent need to cover himself up.

And five, a cold, quick calculation of every possible exit.

Cya took another half step.

"Stop," she ordered, her voice firmer now. "Don't do anything. Let's just talk."

Lyon looked at her. And under the white hair covering half his face, he clenched his teeth.

'She doesn't know it's me,' Lyon thought at full speed. 'She only knows I'm the one with the nickname. She hasn't connected anything.'

"Yet," the voice clarified.

'SHUT UP!'

"I'm just being realistic. Cya's smart. Very smart. If she stares at you for another ten seconds, she's going to connect it. I guarantee you. You have to move."

'I know I have to move.'

"Then move."

Lyon crouched.

It wasn't a normal movement. It was a quick movement, way faster than a regular human body could have pulled off. Lyon dropped his whole body until he was almost touching the asphalt with his hand, planted a palm against the ground, and pivoted on that palm like an axle.

His leg shot straight out toward Cya, at ankle height, slicing the air with a low whistle.

Whoosh.

Cya, to Lyon's surprise, jumped.

Lyon had done the sweep intending to knock her down, buy three seconds, and take off running while she fell.

It was a simple plan.

A bad plan, maybe, but a plan.

The problem was that Cya didn't fall.

Cya jumped, yes, but she didn't jump like a normal person dodging a kick. She jumped like someone who already knew the kick was coming, who already knew when it was going to land and at what height, and who had already calculated exactly how much lift she needed to clear it with precisely the inches necessary and not one more.

Lyon's foot passed under Cya's boots, grazing the soles.

And Cya, still airborne, turned her head down to look at him with that flat face.

'Oh, no.'

"Oh, yes."

Lyon shot up.

And ran.

He bit down hard on his lower lip as he took off, ground his teeth into the flesh on the inside of his mouth, and felt the blood spread onto his tongue, felt it go down his throat, felt it distribute through his chest, through his legs.

His legs got hot.

And suddenly they weren't regular human legs anymore. They were something faster, something stronger, something that pushed off against the asphalt with every stride as if the asphalt were a trampoline.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Lyon accelerated.

Five meters. Ten meters. Fifteen meters.

"Don't let her get away!" a man's voice shouted from behind, one of the gold-badge officers. "Stop her! She's priority!"

And then, up ahead of Lyon, three agents planted themselves in his path.

Three uniforms in blue, arms wide, legs apart. The one in the middle was big. Broad-shouldered.

Lyon didn't slow down. He simply extended his right arm forward, palm open, and shoved the middle one in the chest as he blew past.

Bam.

The officer went flying with a shove that lifted him clean off the ground, sent him two meters backward, and landed him against the hood of a patrol car with the dull crunch of dented metal.

The other two officers froze.

Lyon took advantage and blew past them without even a glance.

'What...?'

"What what?"

'I've never shoved anybody like that. Not even when I fought the worm did I use that much force. It just came out on its own.'

"Ah, that. Yeah, your female body is stronger than your male one. I already told you that once."

'No, you never told me that!'

"Yes, I told you."

'You did NOT tell me!'

"Fine, I'm telling you now. Happy birthday."

'IT'S NOT MY BIRTHDAY!'

Lyon kept running.

Ahead of him, the highway opened up between the orange cones and the crosswise patrol cars. There was a gap between two news vans, and that gap led to a side emergency exit.

If he could make it through there, if he could make it to the downhill curve, he could disappear into the city.

He just had to make it to the curve.

That was all.

Behind him, he heard Cya's boots hitting the asphalt.

And he heard them close.

Very close.

'How is she that close already?'

"Oh my God! Looks like our Lyon forgot Cya can use magic! Will Cya catch up to Lyon?!"

'STOP COMMENTATING MY CHASE LIKE IT'S A BALL GAME!'

"It's just fun."

On the other side of the police line, a young reporter with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail was standing in front of a camera with the mic pressed to her mouth, talking a mile a minute, unable to keep her lower lip from trembling a bit from pure adrenaline.

"I can't even believe it! We are witnessing live how the leader of the Hogwarts guild, who just a minute ago was explaining to us the details of the containment operation for this portal, is now chasing, yes, chasing, the Night Watcher! The very same! The unregistered hunter who's been showing up in the city's reports for the past few months! It's her! It's her! And she came out of the portal in the form of a BAT, folks, in the form of a bat, and then she transformed right in front of our cameras into a girl who is practically naked, yes, naked, they're going to have to censor the footage in the broadcast, network folks, please censor the footage, we don't want issues with the content council—"

The reporter turned toward the camera as Lyon ran past her at less than five meters away.

"THERE! THERE SHE IS! She's running past us right now! Cameraman, follow her, follow her with the zoom, this is historic!"

The cameraman, a burly man in headphones, swung the camera with a sharp pivot.

Lyon, as he ran, caught a glimpse of the lens focusing on him.

And something inside him, something that wasn't the voice but was Lyon himself, cracked a little.

'No, this can't be. This isn't happening on TV. Nobody is watching this.'

"Oh, sweetheart," the voice sighed, in a tone that oscillated between sincere sympathy and the urge to laugh in his face. "They're watching it. And they're probably going to replay it on the morning news. And they're probably going to put it as the backdrop of the afternoon memes. And they're probably—"

'STOP LISTING THINGS.'

"I'm just being realistic."

'DON'T BE REALISTIC RIGHT NOW!'

"Although technically, to them, it's not Lyon running around half-naked. It's the Night Watcher. Which is a completely different identity, that nobody associates with you. That should comfort you a little bit."

'...'

'Okay, that comforts me a little bit.'

"See? I can help too when I want to."

Behind Lyon, Cya's footsteps got even closer.

Lyon turned his head half a second as he ran, just enough to see her over his shoulder.

And there she was.

Cya was running behind him with a serious expression, very serious, with her black ponytail swinging against her back, with her arms moving in sync with her strides, and at a speed that was definitely not normal.

At this rate, in three or four seconds, she was going to catch him.

'Think, think, think. If I turn into a bat again, she's going to manipulate the wind and drop me right onto her hand like the first time.'

"Correct."

'And if I keep running like this, she's going to catch me.'

"Also correct."

'And if I try another sweep, I already know she's going to dodge it.'

"Very correct. You're really on top of things today.'

'So what do I do?'

"I don't know, sweetheart. Honestly, I don't know. But I'm really curious to see what you come up with."

'THIS ISN'T A SHOW FOR YOU!'

"Everything is a show for me, Lyon. Everything. Your entire life is a show for me. It's all I have. Let me enjoy it."

Lyon ran another five meters, scanning for the curve.

Thirty meters to the exit.

Twenty-five.

Twenty.

And behind him, Cya's footsteps getting closer and closer.

Ten meters of distance between them.

Eight.

Six.

And then Lyon felt something else.

He felt the air moving on the sides. Not just behind him. On the sides. A breeze curling around his ankles, another brushing his wrists, another settling carefully on his waist.

'Oh, no.'

"Oh, yes."

'She's setting up another wind technique.'

"And this time she's setting it up calmly. With focus. This one is probably going to catch you good."

'What do I do?'

"Think fast."

'I AM THINKING!'

Lyon clenched his teeth.

He looked at the curve.

He looked at the breeze curling around his ankles.

He listened to Cya's boots practically on his heels.

And he made a decision.

He braked.

He braked hard, both soles at once, in a stop so sharp it made a rubber-on-asphalt screech that carried across the whole highway.

Skrrrrt.

His feet almost slid out from under him. His knees bent to absorb the momentum. His arms flew out to his sides to keep his balance.

And when Lyon finished braking, he turned.

He turned to face Cya head-on.

Cya, who was coming at full speed behind him, couldn't quite brake all the way. She slammed her boots down against the ground with tremendous force, skidded two meters forward, and ended up standing less than three steps from Lyon, panting a little from the effort, hands slightly raised in a defensive stance, and with that flat expression, which now had a dash of surprise poking through underneath.

The two of them looked at each other.

Neither one spoke.

Behind Cya, in the distance, you could see the officers running toward them, the soldiers running toward them, the reporters running toward them with cameras on their shoulders.

They were all on their way, but still thirty or forty meters out. They were going to take a few seconds to get there.

That was all Lyon had.

Inside his head, the voice went completely silent for the first time in several minutes.

And when she finally spoke, her tone was different. It wasn't mockery anymore. It wasn't sports commentary anymore.

It was pure curiosity.

"And now what are you going to do, sweetheart?"

Lyon didn't answer.

Because he didn't know either.

He just knew he couldn't keep running.

He just knew he couldn't fly.

He just knew that if he was going to do something, he had to do it now, in those few seconds he had before the rest of them arrived, hand-to-hand, with the only person standing in front of him.

Cya lowered her hands just a bit, without taking them out of ready position, and tilted her head slightly.

"Watcher," she said, in a voice that was low, almost calm, but not entirely. "Don't do anything stupid."

Lyon took a deep breath.

And inside his head, the voice let out a short laugh, incredulous, but also a little excited.

"...Very well," she purred. "Very well, my human. Let's see what you pull out of your sleeve this time."