#normally i use free stock images for the banners but uh

[19thsentry-blog]

In The Shadows

Miraculous Ladybug Fanfic (Lukanette Endgame)

Chapters

Prelude | Chp 1 | Chp 2 | Chp 3 | Chp 4 | Chp 5 | Chp 6 | Chp 7 | Chp 8 | Chp 9 | Chp 10 | Chp 11 | Chp 12 | Chp 13 | Chp 14 | Chp 15 | Chp 16 | Chp 17 | Chp 18 | Chp 19 | Epilogue | Worlds Not Our Own | Timeline

Chapter Four: Back Down The Rabbit Hole (AO3 Link)

Chapter Snapshot

Despite all the people around him, pushing to get down to the subway or to one of the many shops that lined the sidewalks, Luka knew that he was the one being followed. He could feel the gaze on his neck like it was a breath that whispered on his skin, a soft but vibrant warning like a tuning fork. After his first month in New York the pervasive feeling felt like the flicker of a porch light, only every once and awhile garnering his notice but slowly gaining intensity, and a few days after Marinette had left for Paris it was on him all the time.

It might have been the Ladybug holder, but that didn't seem to match up with her outright hostility and seeming preference to just try and punch the daylights out of him. No, this was something else. Something far more sinister and much slier, and he hoped to resolve his business in New York so that he didn't drag the problem with him to Paris.

It really had been like Roman Holiday. Marinette had been so focused on the romance of it all, the way the stars had aligned just right to make it all happen, that she had forgotten how the end of that movie went. Princess Ann knew she had to go back to her home country, that there was a sacred duty she always had to bow to, and that was why Joe Bradley drove her back to the embassy himself--even if neither of them wanted her to go. The next day at the final press conference, they stared into each other's eyes with so many things left unsaid…and that was it. Princess Ann left. And it was beautiful and bittersweet and a classic because she left and he never said a word. They didn't make promises to see each other again. Princess Ann didn't tell Joe Bradley that she would wait for him because she knew better. And that's why Princess Ann, a totally fictional character, knew more than Marinette did.

When she opened the familiar trap door to her room and lugged her suitcase through, banging it on the stairs (she probably should have taken up her father's offer to carry it for her, but she was feeling stubborn) she was hit with an overwhelming state of grief. The Kwamis swarmed around her affectionately, welcoming her home with cheery voices and she really tried to keep it all together until it was late at night, and she was in bed, staring at the same ceiling she'd been staring at since she was 5.

It was all still here. Hawkmoth and Mayura. The ever-present pressure of her secret identity and duties as the Guardian. Thoughts about the future and her career, hoping to impress and desperate to create something worthwhile. Chat Noir loving her. Her loving Adrien.

Yep. All still here.

But it hadn't been last night, had it? Last night she didn't have that all hanging over her head…she was just Marinette, a girl on a first date with a guy who didn't follow up all their conversations or hangouts with "Oh, that's just my good friend Marinette!".

Marinette's hand stole under the pillow and pulled out the Jagged Stone guitar pick Luka had given her. He'd been paying for their ice cream and about three guitar picks flew out along with his wallet, and she'd stooped to pick them up without thinking about it. Of course he'd been watching her with those careful (and somehow also carefree) eyes of his, noting that she had spent special attention to the Jagged Stone pick in particular, turning it this way and that and running her finger down the edge of it. "You should keep it," he said, smiling. "I've got the record, right? Now we'll both have something."

And she could feel it, some invisible line tying them together even an ocean away, an inerasable piece of proof that for one night Luka had been hers. Someone had been hers. And maybe, really, that's why she hadn't followed Princess Ann's peerless example. Because she needed to know someone out there loved Marinette the girl (woman), and she could keep pretending that nothing else existed.

Because this? The real world? It hurt. And it hurt more every day. The world was sitting on her shoulders, ancient powers and promises strapping it tight around her back and chest and throat until she couldn't breathe anymore, until eventually she would have the life choked out of her and nothing would matter.

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to stop. Once she started thinking about it again, the walls would start to feel like they were closing in on her and she didn't want that. When Marinette opened her eyes again and felt the clean edges of the pick, the firm but gentle give of it, she just wanted to remember Luka. Marinette wanted to believe that there would be a world where he'd text her, and she would look up and he would be there again in the middle of the street. He'd look at her like he'd run through fire just to get to where she was—like he was being pulled towards her and just couldn't help it.

Marinette turned on her other side to look at the corkboard of pictures, the scattered faces of her friends normally induced some sense of comfort…and she'd spent far too many nights staring at Adrien's face until she eventually fell asleep. She'd known just a month into her tenure as Ladybug that she had completely missed the boat on ever being in a relationship with Adrien. Besides the seeming lack of interest, being Ladybug took too much of her time in conjunction with everything else. She knew that and had tried to cool off the remnants of her crush. But really, who was Marinette when she wasn't in love with Adrien? It had been so long; she really didn't know. She felt like the dog from the Pavlov experiments. Hear Adrien's name? Daydream. Smell his cologne? Get dizzy. See Adrien's face? Drool.

Looking at it from a distance she had to start to wonder if her crush was just a way to fill the remaining time she had during the day, without ever having to wonder about the repercussions of if he decided he liked her back and wanted to date. Because that wasn't ever going to happen.

But this, she thought staring at the guitar pick, maybe this could happen. It could catch like wildfire and engulf her before she knew which way was up. Luka had asked if she would wait for him, hadn’t he? He’d come for her someday soon, right? Marinette threw the covers over her face and tried in vain to sleep. Eventually her eyes slid closed, finally catching on to the fact that she really was tired, even though her brain was having a hard time getting the memo. When she finally drifted off, her brain weaved merry alternative universes that she would be left to dissect in the morning.

The one she clung to, revisiting over and over in a desperate (pathetic) attempt not to forget, was one where she took Audrey Bourgeois up on her offer to work under her as a fledgling designer in New York. She got on the helicopter with her (after a daring scene where she found Hawk Moth and Mayura and demanded their Miraculouses back with a "pretty please" and they handed them over, with the other two lost Miraculouses to boot). Marinette became the freshest designer whose creations hit the runway, and after her incredible success she went out to celebrate, and there Luka was, standing outside the venue like he'd been waiting for her to show up all his life. And they were happy. The End. Neat and tidy.

And because that's what she wanted, that's what the universe was determined not to give her. Instead, it had been a full three days and Luka still hadn't texted her and she was trying to be the bigger person about it (because hadn't she said that she'd wait? And hadn't she also decided it shouldn't ever happen anyway?). But she was still Marinette--she was still breathing and laughing and seeing her friends and working her butt off on her portfolio. Marinette might be a clumsy mess of a girl, but she was never down for long.

She was caught trying to remind herself of that when she was 3 days behind schedule and had knots the size of baseballs in her shoulders. Nothing screamed "Marinette" like panic sewing at 2 in the morning while occasionally whimpering like the white rabbit, a constant string of "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," coming out of her mouth. If she didn't have this outfit ready for the rock n' roll shoot she was planning for her portfolio, a domino effect of hell would inevitably be launched.

Not able to finish the fantasy outfits because of all the time she spent on this stupid rock n' roll shoot? Then all the effort her friends put into creating the scenery for her would be wasted and they would hate her, and her portfolio would be weak, and Adrien would wince before handing it to Gabriel. Gabriel would laugh and rip the photos to shreds, telling her he would never consider recommending her for the Lanvin apprenticeship because she was clearly inferior, and Adrien would be sad that he put his name on the line for her and she messed it up--she'd never become a designer and would end up broke and destitute and living in a van down by the river and then someone would steal the Miracle Box from her and the whole universe was REALLY riding on the fact that she could sew this DAMN leather together in time--

The black cat pager that sat on her desk began to vibrate wildly, the sound of it interrupting the monologue of doom in her head. "Not now! Why now! I can't go now!!" she moaned. And yet despite herself, Marinette was already throwing down her half-assembled outfit, scrambling to stop the stupid pager from vibrating.

Tikki had perked up from Marinette's pillow on her bed, wiping at an eye with one of her flippers. "Marinette? Do you need me?" she asked blearily.

Marinette huffed, slamming the pager back down on her desk. "Yes, I'm sorry--sounds like there's trouble," she said. "Ready?"

Tikki nodded, and in a flash of pink Marinette was Ladybug, leaping and bounding through the cool Parisian fall night. She flipped open her yo-yo to check Chat Noir's location--across the museum by the Eiffel Tower, on Av. Franco-Russe. She put in an extra burst of speed. The avenue was tight, the backs of buildings facing each other stoically, and wrought-iron balconies and dark windows lined the road. Chat was lounging on a long, squat red-brick garage, waving at her with a wide smile. She landed next to him with a thump, the shock going straight to her knees, before looking around wildly.

"Alright kitty, where's the fire?" It was peaceful, quiet--no sound but the wind blowing through the leaves of the tall tree behind the garage.

Chat lopped up gracefully and bowed, "No fire, besides the burning of my heart to see you--"

"CHAT NOIR! It's two in the morning!!" Ladybug hissed, grabbing him by one of the cat ears on his head. She could never be sure if they functioned like actual ears, but they moved according to his moods, so she supposed he must be able to feel it.

"Ow, hey! I didn't just call you for cracker jacks and tiddlywinks, I promise!" He shook his ear out from her pinched fingers and rubbed his head with a pout. "Plagg couldn't sleep. He wanted to know if you managed to find the Snake Miraculous holder--you didn't stick around after the show the other day."

Any remnants of anger were flushed out of her and replaced by a flash of guilt. She hadn’t seen Chat Noir since the day she found the bane of her existence in New York and had totally lost to him. Not something she liked to ruminate on. "Oh. Right. I'm sorry about that." Ladybug sighed and motioned for him to come and sit on the edge of the garage facing the tree.

"You looked upset. Is everything okay?"

She wondered if she'd ever be able to answer that question with "why yes, everything's just swell!" and not have it be a lie. Chat Noir's deep green eyes were like emerald pools, staring back at her with every emotion she couldn’t handle right now. Love, adoration, concern, hope--couldn't handle it in herself or anyone else. Ladybug sighed. "No, it's…definitely not okay. I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed right now. And whoever the holder of the Snake Miraculous is, they are way above my skill level. I couldn’t even touch them."

A frown flashed on Chat Noir's face, offended on her behalf. "I can't imagine that--you're incredible."

"Not like this guy--I mean, you should have been there, it was like he wasn't even trying." That was probably the most frustrating part. Every move he could counter, every step she took it was like he was reading her mind. She wasn't that predictable, was she?

Chat Noir shifted slightly on the ledge, head down. "I could've been, you know," he mumbled sullenly. He looked up at her from under his light brown eyelashes, clarifying when she looked confused. "I could have been there with you."

Ladybug shook her head resolutely. "I needed you here. If both of us were gone, who would've protected Paris? If we hadn't gotten back in time, who knows what kind of damage Hawk Moth or Mayura could have done. Anyway, I don't know if it would have done any good. I know the Snake Miraculous gives the holder the ability to turn back time, but I never once saw him go for his bracelet. He didn't even look slightly ruffled at anything I threw at him."

Chat processed that for a moment, one finger on his lips, before turning to her. "So you managed to find him and he immediately picked a fight with you?"

She winced. "Uh. Well. Not exactly."

A wicked grin spread on his face. "You picked the fight with him."

"What else was I supposed to do!" She threw her arms in the air. "I've got to get the damn thing back somehow!"

"Ahh, bugaboo," Chat Noir tsk'd with a self-satisfied look on his face, tapping her nose with one clawed finger. "This is why you need me around to be impulsive for you, so you can think! Did you even get to see if he was a bad guy before you started conking him on the head with your yo-yo?"

"Oh, he's definitely a bad guy. No questions about that. He's clearly using the Miraculous for personal reasons." It still pissed her off thinking about it. In her mind's eye she could see him, one foot on his bounty and that damn grin on his face with that sarcastic 'gotta eat' attitude (that's not exactly what happened, but the longer she thought about it the more it became reality).

Chat Noir chuckled and reclined back, laying down to stare at the stars. His belt/tail was swaying contently off the building. "Well, what's the next plan of attack? How can I help?"

"There is no plan of attack, at least not yet. If I found him once I can find him again, but I've got too much going on to do much more than stew on it for a few weeks." Her eyelids were starting to give out on her--exhaustion didn't even begin to cover it. She'd thrown herself into a work frenzy just to stop thinking about when Luka might text her. If he ever did at all. Maybe she should count her blessings and assume the whole thing was over with.

Ladybug felt Chat Noir's hand cover her own. He had sat up again, cat eyes scanning her features in the darkness. "It'll be alright, milady. We'll figure it out."

She gave him her best imitation of a smile. "Thanks. I should get going," she said, gently pulling her hand from his. She needed the comfort but letting Chat Noir do it seemed wrong when she knew how he felt about her. She never wanted to lead him on. "Tell Plagg I'm sorry. That I couldn't do more."

Ladybug didn't wait for his response before whizzing away, yo-yo pulling her up and over an apartment building. There was still too much to be done for her to be sitting around.

Luka drifted through the heavily crowded sidewalk, deftly ignoring any shoves to the shoulder as passersby rushed past him, dodging where he could and taking the beating elsewise. Despite everyone's insistence on personal space in New York, it didn't stop you from getting body chucked if you were in the way. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the concrete jungle as the sun began to set, human chatter the only animal sounds that could be heard. Trash flittered to and from as it was kicked under foot, bobbing in the turbulent air currents.

Despite all the people around him, pushing to get down to the subway or to one of the many shops that lined the sidewalks, Luka knew that he was the one being followed. He could feel the gaze on his neck like it was a breath that whispered on his skin, a soft but vibrant warning like a tuning fork. After his first month in New York the pervasive feeling felt like the flicker of a porch light, only every once and awhile garnering his notice but slowly gaining intensity, and a few days after Marinette had left for Paris it was on him all the time.

It might have been the Ladybug holder, but that didn't seem to match up with her outright hostility and seeming preference to just try and punch the daylights out of him. No, this was something else. Something far more sinister and much slier, and he hoped to resolve his business in New York so that he didn't drag the problem with him to Paris. He put up with the persistent tingle on his neck while he found somewhere to eat and let it follow him to the hotel while the dark curtain of night stole over the city, bright LED screens and neon lighting up along buildings with each passing minute, ads for Coca Cola and Ralph Lauren blasting the populace of the city.

Once in the hotel, no sooner had the door closed than Luka was quickly shucking off his hoodie and digging through the duffel bag at the end of the bed. Sass flew down to his eye level. "Are you ssure you will be alright?" he hissed out, eyes darting nervously to the door and back to Luka.

Luka smiled grimly as he changed into a dark button-up with light gray patterned swirls. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about this one. Feels different, doesn't it?" he said, roughly rolling the sleeves of his shirt to expose his forearms. Maybe he just felt like that because he had more to lose, or because he’d been in this exact situation before and had seen how it ended.

"It doesss."

They had been through this a few times before. Someone, somehow, would find out about the power of the bracelet—few of them knew exactly what power he had, just that he had it and they wanted it for themselves. Mostly he had gotten several offers to use the power for ill with all manner of promises of rewards that never seemed appealing. Or just threats to join them "or else". Regardless, he dealt with it, just like he'd deal with this now. Whoever it was behind this was acting too intelligently to just be some thug looking for a new minion--this was someone who knew exactly who he was and was smart enough to sit back and assess him. This was someone with time and resources to spare.

"Well, it's best we deal with it as soon as we can. I don't want the problem following us--especially if there are more Miraculouses in France that they would want to scoop up."

"That doesss sseem prudent." Sass acquiesced, floating to his holder's shoulder. The two appraised each other in the large bathroom mirror, their reflections regarding them back. Luka tweaked at his shirt collar and tucked Mullo's Miraculous in the shirt.

"I'll be honest, I think after…after the last time we tried to find…well, you know." Luka swallowed thickly as if that could push away the memories. "Neither of us came away from that very…" his brain searched for the right word. "Hopeful."

Sass's dark green pupils and green sclerae bored into Luka's reflection in the mirror. "You are right. Neither of usss has been the ssame ssince. I wissh to ssee you happy, Luka. I have not sseen you sso lighthearted in many yearsss..." Luka didn't need to ask what he was referencing. He could still feel the weight of Marinette’s hand in his. "You were not made for darknessss."

Luka fidgeted with the other bracelets around his wrist, feeling a slight burn when the friction tugged on his skin. It didn't do much good to imagine his life without Sass, probably because it would have ended quickly and unpleasantly; instead, he found himself thinking about what it would have been like to have been born later, during Marinette's time, growing up in France as just a normal teenage boy. He couldn't imagine what that looked like, either. Too different. Too odd. This was his life, and he was bound to it, and he was bound to deal with power-hungry egotists. Nothing could be done about it.

"We'll deal with this quickly, then. Figure out who's tailing us, keep watch over the boy, and cure Mullo. We'll head to Paris once we're done."

Sass nodded, perhaps a little regretfully at the weight of the mission on Luka's shoulders. Rather than hide on Luka's person the snake took to the bracelet, his body becoming one with the metal with nothing to show for it but a few green sparks. Luka turned from the bathroom mirror and left the meager hotel room, the ever-present eyes on him returning as soon as he stepped into the street.

The Pit wasn't too far away, just a few blocks north from the hotel, its blue and black exterior splashing across the street. A line of young adults streamed around the outside of the double doors like the flickering tongue of a snake. Wild dance music threatened to escape the front doors but left nothing except the bass of the beat, vibrating through his bones. Luka waited with the rest of them, arms crossed as he surveyed around for a minute, pretending to casually people watch.

After ruling out the Ladybug holder as the eyes on his back, he half suspected the culprit to be the man who’d given him his job tonight. If he was the one following him, Luka couldn’t spot him. Whoever it was, Luka wanted to shake them off--maybe not for good, but long enough to see if he could try to find who it was before he headed into a potential trap. There was no way to know if this job and the watched feeling were related, but even if they weren’t he would at least be offered a chance to try and see who was tailing him before carrying that trouble with him.

The bouncer waved him in when he finally reached the front, taking the $20 Luka gave him and shoving it through the door of a lockbox attached to the building. Luka weaved inside, immediately beset with loud pop and splashes of color in the dark. If they were intent on trapping him, they wouldn't risk losing him. They would follow him inside. Luka scanned the groups around the edge of the dancefloor, wisps of a plan coming together in his mind to get himself into the women’s bathroom, through the windows, and out of the club undetected.  

Luka scanned the club from the second floor, eyes occasionally drawn back to the DJ on stage that had taken over for the live band, but more often falling to the swarm of people below. Attentiveness like this had become a habit, nearly a hobby. A swanky staccato beat began to take over the club, lights flashing blue and red, and young adults began stomping and gyrating to Soft Cell’s patented 80’s synthwave. A lanky boy in a ripped black tank top showing off the lean muscle in his arms walked in through the front. Messy brown hair nearly touched amber eyes that roved in a long and thin face, hollow cheekbones framing a dissatisfied frown.

The boy’s eyes caught something across the way and the frown wavered for a moment. He paused, the sure swagger he’d previously had slowed, and Luka unconsciously followed his eyesight to a man across the club. Something passed between them, although he couldn’t quite see what—and the boy suddenly spun on his heel, amber eyes doing quick frantic rounds until he caught Luka’s eye. He pushed through the crowd towards the stairs and took them two at a time.

To the left of the door was a group of rowdy, beefed-up college guys at a table, shouting over the music and jostling each other. Luka moved close enough to be in eyesight of the frat boy in the center, biceps the size of footballs and a tacky political t-shirt that made it fairly clear how he'd feel about his admittedly flimsy scheme. It should work, though, as directly across the dance floor on the other wall was the woman he hoped would be his willing savior.

Right as the man’s eyes slid over to Luka, Luka waved coquettishly with the tips of his fingers and winked. Thick brows turned down when he realized what had just happened, and Luka quickly turned and hightailed it to the highly attentive girl on the other side of the club--who had luckily only seen what he'd wanted her to. Boy walks in, gets a horrific and angry-looking glare from a guy 3 times his size, and then runs for his life.

Luka blinked in surprise at the urgency the boy was running toward him with, and he quickly turned his head to check on the man from across the club. He stood and began pushing his way through the crowd, eyes on the boy that was running towards him. So he was in trouble, then? The boy closed the few feet gap between them, throwing a hand on Luka’s shoulder, a wild smile on his face.

“In a spot of trouble, care to assist?” he asked without preamble, amber eyes flashing an unrestrained urgency.

Luka wasn’t in the habit of refusing anyone a helping hand. The man had paused at the foot of the stairs, an irate bull stopped by an invisible barrier. “Uh, yeah, I can help,” he said, suddenly feeling the weight of the bracelet on his wrist.

The boy regarded him with a tight but amused smile, then lightly slapped Luka’s cheek twice amicably. “Good. Nothin’ personal.”

Luka had just enough time to wonder if he thought the slaps had hurt before the boy’s lips smashed onto his, frantic and rough, pushing him back half a step. The boy broke it off first, turning his body to face the bull at the bottom of the stairs, flipping him an offensive backhanded peace sign. The man’s nostrils flared, and he began to force his way up the stairs—and the boy grabbed Luka’s arm with a wild laugh and began to drag him in a race across the second-story loft.

As he hoped, the girl's face was drawn into a concerned frown as she peeked around the exultant dancers in the center to watch the interaction. Her natural hair framed her face like a halo around smooth, deep brown skin, gold highlighter bouncing off her cheeks as she turned her head this way and that. A wary hand with long nails was draped over her the top of her drink. Luka caught her eye and she nodded, slightly, moving her drink to her left when he came up to her right.

"Baby, what kind of spell did you whip up on him?" she asked, deep purple lips barely moving as she watched the man he'd just royally pissed off.

"Toxic masculinity can really work a number on a guy," Luka said as he caught his breath.

She made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Uh-huh." The man in question was still staring daggers in Luka's direction, deciding if he should stomp over and demand an explanation for the unwanted advance.

"Any chance you know an escape route that's not directly through the front door?" He asked, leaning against the table and tapping his fingers nervously. "I'd use the windows in the men's room, but, ah, I believe that would be ill-advised." The man was handing his beer to one of his friends.

The woman gave him a long glance up and down before shaking her head and standing, several inches taller than him in her yellow stilettos. She downed her drink in one and set it on the table, readjusting her cardigan before taking his hand. Luka followed her through the throngs of young adults while the pop music transformed into a stuttering drumbeat with a keening electric guitar, a woman's voice moaning in pleasure before erupting into song. Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when our common goal was waiting for the world to end--

Luka looked behind him, pretending to check for the advancing bull. There was a blond woman watching him cross the club, finger running just beneath her lips, a couple whose eyes met his occasionally while they danced, a man at the bar in a clean white button-up… Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend, you crack the whip, shape-shift and trick the past again--

The woman guiding him pushed through a throng of girls outside the women's restroom and pulled him inside, ignoring the giggles and pointed glances. One girl sloppily applying mascara in the restroom yipped when she saw him before blushing and turning back to the mirror. His savior let go of his hand and stepped up on the bright pink upholstered armchair that was tucked in the corner, heel digging into the cushion while she shoved open the window.

Luka breathed a sigh of relief and offered her his hand to help her get back down, hopping up gracefully in her place. "You're a godsend." Luka shot a sheepish grin first at her and then the gaggle of girls that had just walked in.

"Gotta stick together, right?" She asked, watching him hoist himself up through the window.

They burst out the door to the second-story patio together, breathless and frantic. The boy grabbed his arm again, pulling him past groups of friends and a couple that was definitely doing more than having a make-out session. He was dragged over to the back and realized there was a fire escape ladder that led into the dark alley. The boy waggled his eyebrows at him, eyes aglitter with mischief, then spun around to slide down it. The door to the patio slammed open again, and that was all the prompting Luka needed to bolt down after him.

“What’d you do that for?” Luka asked when his feet hit the pavement, waving his hand slightly in a half approximation of the peace sign. In trying not to pant too hard from the chase his nose was overwhelmed with the heavy scent of trash and sex that permeated the alley. “And what did you do to him in the first place?”

The boy flashed him another wild grin, spinning around in the alleyway as he made his way towards the main street. “Thought it was funny. Ponce looked right pissed, didn’t he? As for the other thing,” he ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth lavishly. “Maybe I’ll teach you sometime.”

Luka knelt by the window for a moment, waving to the girls in the bathroom with a genuine smile on his face before taking off. Either his pursuer was a woman, or he'd hear shrieks of drunken outrage if a man burst into the women's restroom 'uninvited'. Luka tucked himself behind a dumpster, whispering the words that ignited his transformation. Whoever was tailing him would be looking for him now. Luka jumped halfway up the building and quickly scaled it, gloved fingertips working quickly to find holds. He swung his legs up the roof and spun around to silently sneak his way to the corner of the building where he could watch both the main street and the alleyway he'd escaped out of.

They had found him out quicker than he expected. A clean-cut man in a white button-up and slacks with roman features and perfectly coiffed hair darted out of the club and rounded the corner, looking up and down the alley. Luka watched the man clench and then unclench his jaw, pacing a short circuit in the alley before pulling a phone out of his pocket. After a few angry perfunctory taps, he brought the phone up to his ear.

"He knows," was all the man said. He continued his pacing and looked over his shoulder a few times while he listened to the person on the other end. "No--stay the course." A moment, and the man grit his teeth. "I'm aware." He hung up the phone, slid it back into his pocket, and stood still with his hands on his hips. Without warning, he spun around and kicked the dumpster. The dense metal clanged viciously in the alley, echoing off the walls with the man's heavy breathing. Luka took that as his cue to leave.