West Nova was the darkest part of the city. Tom had done all he could to improve the conditions of the city, but the west end lingered in its shady and dangerous dealings. Lumbering into that part of town, Zane waited for someone to approach him. It was a safe bet that he'd be mugged or attacked, so all he had to do was wait. If he had it his way, he would go asking around for Dalton, but he knew he had to be patient.

The cold hardened his skin and his face itched from the chilling air. Snow had completely overtaken the dilapidated structures around him. A hollow wind whistled by and he began to feel the beginning stages of fatigue. What little food he'd had at the old man's outlet store was long gone.

Steadying his breath, Zane trudged on, forcing one foot out in front of the other. Muffled crunching sounds welcomed each snow-filled step, creating a steady rhythm with the whirring breeze. He studied the path before him, counting his steps until he heard one that was not his own. Slowly, he turned to find another figure standing a few yards away from him. Zane hid the surprise in his eyes, but he grew annoyed for not realizing that he was being followed. The man wore a long trench coat and a dark red scarf that covered the lower half of his face. Black sunglasses obscured the eyes Zane knew were watching him from beneath the brim of the stranger's fedora.

Zane leveled his stance in the ankle-deep dust. "What do you want?" he asked nonchalantly.

The figure stood silently, the ends of the scarf whipping out behind him. This was the opportunity Zane was waiting for, but the weather wasn't on his side. He wasn't used to fighting in such terrain, but he'd known that coming in. His drive to find Dalton far outweighed his loathing the snow.

Zane read between the lines of the tension. He could tell the man was one hundred and eighty to two hundred pounds. The coat was too baggy, so he couldn't tell if the guy was armed. The man reached for his pocket and Zane readied himself for an attack. Instead of a gun or switchblade, he pulled out a folded bundle of papers. Casually, his fingers flipped page corners as if counting currency. Watchful, Zane refused to let his guard down. When the man got to a certain page, he turned his gaze back to Zane, then back to the paper, and then nodded.

"Not from around here, are ya?" A voice behind him asked.

Zane's eyes widened when he heard the voice. He didn't bother turning to face his foe. Judging by the clarity of the words, Zane could ascertain the proximity of the man who'd snuck up from behind. Seconds after hearing the voice, he felt the barrel of a gun press up against his back.

He smiled when he heard the click of the pistol's hammer. "Looks like West Nova hasn't changed much," Zane murmured, already annoyed with his former home. He chastised himself for letting his guard down. The weather had masked his attempts at hearing any pursuers and the ankle-deep snow would be a bothersome to fight in. What would be an easy fight for Zane became more complicated than it should have been.

"Is it him?" the gun-wielding man asked. His companion nodded after singling out the single page from his stack.

The wind whipped the sheet in his grasp as he approached Zane. "This you, ain't it?" Revealing the contents of the paper, Zane saw his name plastered on the top, his photo, and a price of eighty-five thousand dollars. One other thing stuck out to him: the phrase Wanted Alive.

Confused and slightly perturbed, Zane figured the men wouldn't kill him so he reached out for the flier to inspect it further. He thought back to the flier he'd found days earlier, one similar to his but with Nole's own name, face, and price.

"Huh," he muttered to himself. He had no idea who the Polys were, and he didn't care.

"That you or ain't it?" The man with the gun was losing his patience as the gun pressed harder against Zane's jacket.

"And if it is?"

"Thought as much. So here's what's gonna happen, you're gonna follow my friend in the scarf here and I won't stuff a bullet into your spinal column."

For a few yards, Zane walked in between the men. He assumed they were leading him to the Polys for some reward. As intrigued as he was by the unfamiliar group, Zane knew he couldn't lose sight of his goal.

The trajectory of the wind shifted and created a whirlwind of white specks around them. Subtly, Zane slowed his pace enough to create a gap between him and the leading man. He couldn't contest the risk of being shot, but he gambled that the man behind him wouldn't kill him. After all, he was wanted alive.

A gust of air burst through them, chilling Zane to the bone. Clenching the fists at his side, he struck. Maneuvering as quickly as he could in the thick snow, he drove his elbow over his shoulder and against his enemy's face, sending the man stumbling backwards. The gun fell flat against the densely packed snow. Zane tried to sweep his legs beneath the man to knock him off his feet, but the move was just as detrimental to him. After successfully sending the man stumbling backwards, Zane also fell forward. He used his arms to steady himself against the ice, and felt the file folder slip out of his jacket in the process.

Instead of retrieving the file, Zane claimed the gun of his fallen enemy, who was now struggling to get up in the white heap he landed in. As expected, the leading man with the scarf caught on to his hostage's retaliation and tried to come to his companion's aid, but it was too late. Zane was already pointing the barrel of the gun at his incoming enemy.

Neither of the men moved when they saw Zane's finger resting on the trigger as he stood between them. Glancing to the owner of the gun, Zane got a quick look at his former captor - a short pudgy man wearing a fur cap and a puffy brown jacket. Out of his peripheral vision, he thought he saw the man with the sunglasses and scarf reach for a weapon, but realized he was merely reaching for something on the ground: a piece of paper.

Zane scoured the area for his file, but only saw a wide-open manila folder and its contents blowing away like confetti. Dalton was in the wind yet again.

If not for his precarious position, he could have retrieved most of the papers of the file. Grinding his teeth, Zane gripped the handle of the gun tight enough to make his arm tremble. His boiling anger was almost beyond his rationale. He felt his finger add a fraction more pressure to the trigger, but he stopped when the man did something unexpected. Instead of attack or beg for his life, he inspected the paper closely, as if he weren't standing in the crosshairs of a live weapon.

"Holy shit," the man huffed.

Zane couldn't discern the man's features because of the scarf and sunglasses obscuring his expression, but his tone was one of awe.

Exasperated, Zane dug his boots into the snow and approached the man. Pointing the gun in his enemy's face, he snatched the page from the gloved hands. It was the very first page of Dalton's file. Stuffing it into his coat, Zane returned his attention to the man, who slowly pulled off his sunglasses and stretched the scarf away from his mouth. He had sharp features - high cheekbones, square jaw, wide forehead, and striking light blue eyes. He didn't seem angry, or even afraid for his life. Instead, he stared deeply into Zane's eyes with an astonishment that made Zane feel slightly uneasy.

"Kid," the man gasped. "You know Dalton?"