His nose was broken. The tissue around it had already swollen in shades of blue and green. He washed the blood from his face, stuffing his nostrils with paper towel to stop the trail of blood spatter through the hotel foyer. Yanking his hood over his head, he left the washroom, keeping his head averted from the front desk as he hurried from the hotel. As soon as he cleared the hotel entry, he turned into the nearest side street, kept to the dark side of the sidewalk, and began the trek to Point Pleasant Park.

His phone buzzed.

It was Tr0lz. Where the hell are you?

It was one of many messages from her, growing angrier and more threatening by the minute.

He could not go back to Tr0lz’s apartment. One look at his face, and she would know something was up. Besides, he was almost home free.

He ignored the throbbing of his nose, the labored breathing through his mouth, the dryness in his throat from the exertions of his fight, the metallic taste in his mouth from the blood that still trickled in fits and starts when he moved his face too quickly.

He skirted the waterfront, avoiding the road that ran past the container pier. Although it led directly to the park, it also had twenty-four hour security. He should know. His dad’s company was responsible for it.

Aiden hopped over the low stone wall that edged Point Pleasant Park. Darkness rimmed his vision. He pushed off the hood. Cool air wafted over his hair, matted with sweat and blood. Pain throbbed in his face. In his head.

And then he saw the police car.

It cruised slowly, deliberately not fifty feet from he stood.

* * *

Harry didn’t dare take a cab to the park. He was too recognizable.

Instead, he slipped on his running shoes, and plugged a pair of earbuds into his ears. The headphones were just for effect. He wouldn’t listen to music. He needed all of his senses.

The bars had emptied, the sidewalks congested with late night revelers. A large pack of young university students staggered in front of him, laughing and chattering at the top of their voices. He stayed close to the edge of their group, keeping enough distance that none of the young women would feel creeped by him, but ensuring that he had other people around him. It made him less obvious to the police and less easily seen on the security cameras mounted in the windows of the bars that lined the street.

The students veered uphill at Sackville Street. He continued south, his pace brisk as he passed the gracious old buildings and looming condominium towers that had sprung up all over the downtown. The unmistakable smell of weed drifted from the balcony of one of the condos. He kept his head lowered, hoping that whoever was toking a joint above him hadn’t glimpsed his face.