The streets of the 11th floor bustled with their usual midday rhythm, but Fenrir and Zerg walked through them like ghosts.
Their presence felt almost weightless among the cheerful crowd, though that changed the moment they reached a worn bulletin board near the square's center.
A large wanted poster flapped in the breeze.
Fenrir narrowed his eyes. "That's new."
Zerg leaned forward, squinting. The paper was cheap, the ink slightly smudged, but there was no mistaking the image—it was a still from the security feed, grainy but clear enough to recognize both of them.
Fenrir's back was turned in the image, but his coat, hair, and stance were unmistakable. Zerg, on the other hand, was staring directly into the camera.
The headline above read in bold red letters:
[WANTED—LEVEL 10 ESCAPEES. ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.]
Zerg groaned.
"We should just turn ourselves in, you know. Save everyone the suspense."
Fenrir gave a dry chuckle.
"Where's the fun in that?"
