The rooftops of Lisbon blurred beneath his feet, a patchwork of tile, brick, and narrow ledges slick with dew and danger. Chase Devineaux didn’t pause.

He never did when Carmen Sandiego was in sight.

That flash of red ahead—coattails flicking around a corner like the tail of a fox—ignited something stubborn in him. Not anger, not anymore. Not the obsessive, reckless chase of earlier days. But something keener. Sharper. A drive that had grown quieter and more focused since the arrogance was peeled away.

He told himself this time was different. He wasn’t here just to arrest her. He wanted to know why she was here. What she was after. Whether it was V.I.L.E., A.C.M.E., or something neither side could predict.

He didn’t get answers by waiting.

She vaulted a utility pipe and sprinted toward the end of the roof—then jumped. Not a glance back. No hesitation. A clean, confident arc that sent her sailing over the alley below.

Chase swore under his breath. "She just had to jump."

He pushed harder, boots slipping slightly on the tiles. The edge came too fast, his timing not quite right. He launched anyway, arms flung forward, and—

The edge missed him. Or he missed it.

Chase didn’t fall gracefully. Momentum threw him into the air, and the hood of a parked car below broke his descent with an ugly crunch. His shoulder took most of the impact, pain searing up his arm. He bounced, rolled, and hit the pavement with a winded grunt.

For a moment, all he could do was breathe.

No sirens. No backup. Just streetlights flickering and the faint sound of revelry echoing from a nearby square. Crowds of people just blocks away, and here he was—dented pride, bruised ribs, and another chase ending in the same red blur.

Chase sat up slowly, pressing a hand to the side of the car. Carmen was already gone.

Again.

The silence that followed was cut by the sound of approaching footsteps. He didn’t look up right away. He assumed it was a curious civilian, maybe someone who heard the crash. Great—just what he needed. A witness to his spectacular landing.

But something about the steps made him pause.

Deliberate. Focused. Not running. Not rushing. Just… measured.

Chase straightened and turned, jaw clenched, expression caught somewhere between exhausted and defensive.

"I’m fine," he said automatically, brushing his coat sleeve even though he was clearly not fine.

A beat passed. He looked closer. The figure approaching wasn’t some bystander with a phone camera. They had a certain stillness to them. Not surprised. Not curious. Maybe... waiting?

His eyes narrowed.

"Unless you’re here to help or hand me a lead," he muttered, tone dry, "I suggest you save us both some breath."