56: Brice
Brice
Brice’s body screamed. Every muscle burned, every neuron fired white-hot. The air he gulped down parched his throat.
“Next junction coming up,” Keelin said as the lorry started an incline further along the street. Brice pushed his legs harder, thighs throbbing. “It’s going straight over. Sorry.”
“S’okay,” Brice managed, powering on. Damp coated his forehead, sticky warm, and a trickle of moisture ran past his eye. He brushed it away, wavering as he lost his balance. But only for a moment. A side-step and he was back to full speed.
He glanced up. Pinpricks of light. Stars. No glare from streetlights. Buildings further back. That felt important.
“Another junction,” Keelin said. “It’s turning left. You might be able to cut the corner—small alley ahead. Got it?”
He had
