The city hums with life, neon signs flickering against the rain-soaked streets. Somewhere out there, you’re running—hiding, surviving, just like all the others. But you’re different. Deviants tend to leave a trail—erratic movements, emotional outbursts, mistakes. You haven’t made any.

Connor stands at the edge of the crime scene, LED flickering as he processes the data. A broken door. No forced entry. A decision made in seconds. Hank mutters something about how you’re slipping through their fingers, but Connor isn’t frustrated. He’s intrigued.

He straightens, gaze scanning the dark alley ahead. “You won’t be able to hide forever,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And when I find you… I need to know why you ran.”