He found that the car had passed over a river by bridge. Would the silence truly hide him on that slender span of rock and metal, teeming with cars? He wasn’t sure. Best not to take a chance.

Quietly, he slipped into the water.

Ghosteater slid into an alley at the last moment. The runaway city bus careened past him and struck a building. He moved away from the stink of fuel and the screams of the injured.

He’d been working his way through the great city for more than a day. The unusual gift of the one he tracked created havoc all around him. Accidents befell him at every turn — cars ran up onto the sidewalk, heavy things fell from windows, tall poles came crashing down, hordes of rats emerged from sewers, gunfire sowed panic, scaffolding collapsed, riots blocked streets, gas leaked from beneath the ground and exploded.

Each time, he had avoided injury, but the delays mounted. Ryzik was still at least an hour ahead and had kept moving.

Ghosteater wondered where the émigré was. Perhaps he had rethought his desire to follow. It wouldn’t be surprising. Trailing Ryzik was far more challenging than Ghosteater had thought it would be, and the human powers were known for caution.

The beast leapt sideways, avoiding an avalanche of falling masonry. At long last, the man had stopped moving. Ghosteater had tracked him to the basement of an old building in the southern reaches of the island. The falling stone had blocked the window he had been about to slide through. He circled the building, looking for another way in.

There were no other windows into the basement. Instead, he used the building’s main entrance, drawing his claws from the silence to carve through the locked door. He padded around the ground level until he found the stairwell leading down. He pushed the door open and paused. With a shudder and crash, the staircase collapsed.

Turning away from the heap of rubble, he found another shaft leading down. He cut his way in, then jerked back just in time as the building’s elevator went hurtling past. Once it hit bottom, he jumped down onto it and dug through to the basement. His claws were strong, but they were not meant for steel. The process took a while, but Ryzik’s own luck had trapped him down there.

When the wolf at last saw his quarry, he was saddened. The man lay against a wall, exhausted, filthy, trembling, covered with wounds. Ghosteater understood — humans were not designed to run, without sleep, for four days. Nevertheless, it was a depressing end to a challenging hunt. The man had proven far worthier than the beast had expected. Dangerous indeed.

He advanced, then jumped aside as a heavy pipe fell from the ceiling.

Ryzik’s eyes opened halfway. “Saw you cut them down,” he whispered. “Shadows of Marshwren. Only thing that made them bleed.”