Sefton stiffened as the conversation continued. As soon as his name had been uttered, he was already leaning away from the wall and heading toward the exit. His panic had almost completely taken over and he knew he had to leave—now—but moving too quickly would have put more attention on him. Mentally apologizing to Chivy, he stepped out of the station, walking briskly past the windows in front, until he was no longer in within immediate sight.

Then, Sefton ran. Thankfully, there were few people on the walkway thanks to the fair, so it made mad dashing a lot easier. Deciding that there was enough space to be a little more reckless, he slowed momentarily to slip off his shoes and socks in two, efficient movements, and continued to run. It was a trick he'd learned as a young child: if he repelled objects while running, he could cover more distance with each stride, effectively speeding himself up.

It was all he could do to get away before the police realized that they'd lost their quarry. He didn't have much money left, but he resolved to go as far as it would take him and hole up there for a while. Once again, he found himself apologizing to someone who wasn't even there.

Sorry, Chivy.