A split second after I have started sprinting away, I realize how stupid the decision was. What was I thinking?

The answer is simple. I wasn't.

But it's too late to turn back now. If I wasn't guilty, I wouldn't have run. The very fact that I did implies that I have done something wrong. No amount of lies can cover that up now.

So I do the only thing I can: sprint, as fast as I can. I need to outrun these police officers, get out of sight and to safety. Then I can worry about finding Sage and Asher. In the meantime, Asher can worry about what he'll do when I get my hands on him, because if he hadn't suggested the idea of going to the Examination in the first place, I wouldn't be in this situation right now.

I mean, I know it's essentially my fault. First of all, if they actually do know I did something illegal, it's obviously my problem that I did that thing in the first place. But those people could have been staring at me for any reason. It didn't necessarily mean they suspected me of breaking the law. So, second of all, I made it worse by running.

I like having something to blame on Asher, though. He really pisses me off sometimes.

Right now, I can't focus on that. My attention is on getting away. Thankfully, I am much smaller and more light on my feet than these grown police officers. If they catch up to me, I'm probably done for.

Oh, if only I hadn't pulled that stunt in the bank last night. If I hadn't, I would have been able to say that I haven't done anything wrong--well, not recently, anyway.

My feet rhythmically pound against the pavement, my legs aching and lungs burning. All I can hear is the wind whistling past my ears, blowing my hair around my face. Normally, I'd love the refreshing feel of a long run. I'd shut my eyes and imagine I was an eagle, soaring through the air on my powerful wings, without a care in the world. But right now is not the time for that.

I push myself to be faster, swifter. I'm not yet tiring, and I can tell that I've greatly increased the distance between myself and the officers. Finally, when I reach the end of the street, I round the corner without slowing down my sprint.

I strain my ears to listen for any sounds of pursuit. But there's nothing. No shouting, no heavy footsteps. It's as if they've just given up the chase. Breathing heavily, I let myself relax a little, my quick footfalls gradually shifting to slow, jogging steps. I let out a little laugh, feeling exhilarated. I'm sure that later, I'll look back on this thinking that it was nothing but a fun experience. Outrunning a half dozen trained police officers, who probably had guns with them? Ha! No big deal. My smile widens as I imagine Asher's face when I tell him, and doesn't falter even when I picture Sage's exasperated groan and the following lecture on safety that I will receive. My lips refuse to stop grinning, and I doubt it will anytime soon.

That is, until I hear the unmistakable sound of the revving of a motorcycle.

And the siren that immediately follows it.

My smile is swept away by a waterfall of panic. Any feeling of triumph I had instantly evaporates in the wake of my sudden fear. "Shit!" I curse, looking around wildly. Of course that's why I couldn't hear the police officers anymore. They went back to get a motorcycle. How the hell am I supposed to outrun a fricking motorcycle?

Suddenly, the situation becomes much more serious. I know from experience that unless police officers are planning to take you into custody and march you to the police station for questioning, they won't bother giving chase on a vehicle. Which means...

Shit, shit, shit. Oh, I am in serious trouble.

I know that I can no longer outrun them, so I need to outsmart them instead. I have to use my knowledge of the area to evade them and throw them off my tracks. And I need a concrete plan, fast, because I probably have less than half a minute before that motorcycle skids around the corner.

I scan both sides of the road. Tall office buildings, parking garages, a fancy looking hotel. No random stores that I can quickly duck into. No ivy-covered walls that I can climb. This is not like the other parts of this city--it's where the Examination Hall is, so of course it's a downtown area. There's absolutely nothing that can help me here. I can't waltz into that hotel and expect to blend in. I can't scale the side of a twenty-story structure and expect to go unnoticed.

All this goes through my head in just a couple seconds, and my desperation intensifies. I don't even try to think anymore. Instead, I bolt again, heading straight for a large parking garage next to one of the towering glass buildings. Maybe I can break into a car and hot wire it, I don't know. I have no idea what I'm doing.

The moment I enter the garage, I realize my mistake. All these cars are fancy, rich peoples' vehicles. Even if I did manage to steal one of these, it would be anything but inconspicuous. But I still sprint down the line of cars, looking to see if there is a mediocre one. As I round a corner, I see an elevator several yards ahead. There. That's my exit.

When I am a few parking spots away, I spot a slightly worn car that looks very out of place among all these shiny, expensive ones. It's a plain silver color and looks like any common person's vehicle. It even has tinted windows. It's perfect. The police officers will never suspect that it's me in there, partially because I seem much too short to be able to drive, and also because fifteen year olds are not allowed to drive anyway. Not that that has ever stopped me from learning, with Sage as my patient teacher. As far as the police know, however, there is no way I could have learned to drive, making it just that much more of a perfect getaway.

I eagerly rush to the driver's seat, pulling a bobby pin out of my hair. I always make sure I'm wearing one, for situations like these. Bending over, I jam it into the lock in the car door, trying to open it. Within a minute, I hear the satisfying click of it unlocking.

But before I can yank open the door, I hear an ear-piercing shriek.

No. No, no, no. No way can this be happening.

But it is. The fricking car has a fricking alarm, and it's blaring at full volume now, and as far as I know only the really expensive cars have those, but that doesn't matter now because it's screaming and anyone can hear which means that the police motorcycle will be hot on my trail again in a matter of minutes, oh god oh god oh god what do I do--

The elevator!

With a choked gasp, I abandon the car, its alarm still screaming, and hurtle for the elevator. I see on a sign beside it that this is floor 1, and above it there is a flashing number 5 indicating the floor that it is on right now, so I slam the down button as hard as I can, pressing it over and over even after it lights up, even though I know it won't do anything. A little downward facing arrow appears next to the 5. "Go go go!" I gasp.

After several long, excruciating seconds, the 5 switches to a 4. "Come on, come on, faster!" My voice is full of desperation. I can't get caught. I can't.

A few more seconds pass. 3.

I moan, falling onto the button heavily, pressing it so hard and so fast it looks like my arm is having spasms. How slow is this fricking thing? "I can't get caught," I whisper. "I can't get caught. I can't get caught. I won't get caught."

2.

Almost there. Just one more floor. Just one more--

The downward arrow next to the number vanishes. The elevator has stopped on the second floor.

"NO!" I cry out, banging my head on the wall. And, just as I do, the car alarm conveniently shuts off. Silence fills the garage.

And in that silence, I hear the sound of a motorcycle's engine, loud enough that it must be fairly close. It increases in volume, until the sound suddenly changes to a clearer, more echo-y one, the sort of sound that you would hear in a large, enclosed space.

Like a parking garage.

The motorcycle is in the garage, and whoever is on it will spot me as soon as they round the corner, which shouldn't take more than a minute. That is, if they're going slow, to check every corner of this space for me.

Please be going slow. Please, please, please.

The number above the elevator is still 2. Oh. My. God. How long does it take for someone to get on an elevator? "Hurry, hurry, hurry," I breathe. "Please hurry."

The motorcycle is getting closer.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the little arrow reappears next to the 2. I wait with bated breath, listening to the motorcycle draw nearer and nearer, for the number to change. Seconds tick by in slow motion. The number doesn't change. Second after second after second passes, the sound of the police vehicle grows louder and louder, the number stays frozen as a stubborn 2--

Ding.

The number switches to a 1. The arrow vanishes again. And slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, the elevator doors open. Just as the motorcycle turns the corner.

It's the woman who noticed me earlier, along with the police officer she consulted. Both of them let out shouts when they see me, but I don't wait to see what they do. As soon as the elevator doors open wide enough for me to slip through, I do exactly that, barreling into a man and woman in professional business suits. Both of them exclaim in shock, but I literally shove them out, slamming my shoulder into the close doors button. Mercifully, the elevator shuts almost immediately.

The highest floor here is floor 6, so that's the button I press. Hopefully, by the time I reach the roof in this crawling hunk of metal that wouldn't be able to outrun a snail, I'll have some sort of plan. I slump against the back wall of the elevator.

It doesn't occur to me until floor 5 that if a snail could outrun this thing, a motorcycle definitely could. And by the time I realize what that means, it's too late.

With another little ding, the elevator doors open once again on the roof. Almost instantly, my fears are confirmed. The motorcycle is already here, and with it, the woman and the police officer. Both of them stand directly in front of the elevator, blocking my way out, triumphant looks on their faces. But that's not the worst part.

The barrel of a gun is pointed directly at my face. As I stand frozen, I hear the distinct click of the safety being turned off.

"Move a single muscle," the man says in a low voice, "and you're dead."

A/N: Just out of curiosity, how are you guys liking the story so far?