It took over a day to reach the city in question—not too bad by local standards, but nowhere as fast as Dallion would have gotten there if he could fly.

The town approached a proper city with an official population of just over a hundred thousand. From what Atol shared, it was at least fifty percent more, with many people coming here just for work, without actually being residents. In other words, this was probably a perfect place for someone to hide in. Ironically, everything pointed to the awakened target actually living here.

There were several local law enforcement agencies that Atol had had dealings with in her past visit, as well as a number of private detectives. Of course, when she had mentioned she had something special in mind, Dallion never expected what would follow.

“A Marshal’s office?” he asked, not even sure why there would be one in a place like this.

“It sounds more impressive than it is. There’s just a couple of people there, but one of them knows his stuff.”

“If you say so.” Dallion didn’t seem at all encouraged.

“Trust me, he’s the real boomer. Also, the real deal.”

The description was even more questionable, but with nothing left, Dallion closed the car door as the woman made her way into the small, unassuming building.

Okay to ask another favor? he asked the car.

How can one refuse you? the car replied in her usual voice.

If you see someone who’s like me, stay calm, but then let me know. Okay?

Sure.

The inside of the building was just as unassuming as the outside. It was almost as if time had forgotten this house, keeping it the same, stubbornly refusing to enter the new century. The desks, phones, the fans, even the single TV were ancient. Of course, that didn’t prevent everyone present from tapping on their laptops and tablets.

“Matt,” Atol said, heading directly to a thin, gray-haired man with the biggest mustache Dallion had seen in all the worlds he’d visited. “Have a moment for me?”

As the woman spoke, strands of music made sure to impose her authority, keeping anyone not involved from interfering, while also attracting the old man’s attention. For some reason, Dallion could almost sense that half of the music attack had been deflected.

“Miss Waters,” the man said with a stern look, although beneath his mustache, the corners of his mouth had curved in a slight smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again. Not after last time.”

“Why not?” For a split second, the woman was caught off guard.

“After all those fancy detectives you sent last time failed, I thought you’d lost interest in this place. Either that or you found whoever you’ve been looking for.”

“Other things popped up.” Atol regained her composure. “I have a new assistant now.”

“Him?” The man gave Dallion a questionable look. He was joined by the three other people in the one room office. “You sure pick them young. This kid shouldn’t even be in college.”

“He’s good at what he does.”

“If you say so.” The man shrugged. “Jimmy, bring some coffee, will you?” he shouted to one of the other people in the room. A broad-shouldered man who could well be the old man’s son, stood up with a slight grumble, then went to what one might assume to be the building’s kitchen. “So, what have you found?”

The question was unexpected. Rather, it wasn’t so much the question as the certainty of it.

“Why do you think we’ve found anything?” Dallion took the lead.

“Son, if I need to explain it to you, that doesn’t make you a good detective. I hope that’s not what Miss Waters hired you for.”

“Matt, please,” Atol said in her most beguiling voice. “He’s good at what he does. It’s thanks to him that we got a clue. Just as you suggested.”

The man’s expression remained just as stern.

“US Marshal Matthew Williams,” he said in a deep voice. “And you would be?”

“Dallion,” Dallion replied. He made an attempt to use some of his own music skills. Whether or not it worked remained uncertain, though the marshal didn’t ask for his family name. “The person we’re looking for had a state champion’s ring, twenty-twenty-three. Football.”

The deputy marshal returned with two mugs of coffee. One was given to Matt, the other the man kept for himself. Apparently, the refreshments weren’t meant for Dallion or Atol.

“State football champion. That’ll narrow things down to twenty kids.” Matthew took a gulp from his mug. “A description would have been nice.”

“That’s the problem with this one. No descriptions. If it was easy, I wouldn’t be constantly sending people here.”

“I suppose not. You could have made it official, of course. I’d have taken the matter myself.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“It’s important, but not that important.”

“Sure.” The man finished his mug and slammed it on the desk. “Jimmy, get a list of the kids on the football roster for Miss Waters, here.”

“You already know who they are?” Dallion sounded impressed.

“Everyone in this town knows who they are. They’re the equivalent of local heroes.”

“Which means that people won’t be too thrilled having anything happen to one of them.” The deputy marshal called “Jimmy” said.

“Oh, I’m sure Miss Waters will tread lightly on this one. Isn’t that right?”

“You know me too well, Matt.” Atol smiled. The amount of music strands in her voice was so high that Dallion could almost see them.

The marshal was just about to add something else when the alarm of Atol’s car suddenly went off. On the surface, there was nothing unusual about that. It wouldn’t be the first time that a fancy car would suffer a few local keys. However, in this particular instance, neither Dallion nor Atol had set the alarm. In fact, they hadn’t even locked the doors, assuming no one would attempt anything in front of the marshal’s office. The fact that Dallion could hear the alarm meant only one thing—the car was telling him she’d seen something that merited his attention.

“Damn it!” Dallion dashed towards the exit.

It took him just over three seconds to get outside, just in time to see an out-of-place teen a few steps from the car. He was one of those boys that looked old for their age, though not old enough as they wanted. Work jeans, military shoes, and what at some point had been a biker’s jacket, desperately attempted to pull him into the mid-twenties, yet failed in spectacular fashion.

That wasn’t all that Dallion saw, though. Apart from being away from the car, the teen was also in it, going through the glove compartment, as it were.

Combat splitting, Dallion thought.

And it was quite advanced, too. While the number of instances left a lot to be desired, the teen managed to hold them well within the seconds. Dallion would be hard pressed to match the skill.

In his mind, time slowed down, as he was forced to make a split-second decision. He could chase after the teen directly, though that would be pointless. With such a mastering of splitting, the boy could rush in opposite directions and switch to the instance that held him to a greater advantage. And that was in case he didn’t proceed to attack, as most awakened in the awakened world would.

Dallion could, of course, wait for Atol and—hopefully—the marshals, but only risked giving the boy a greater head start. Thus, he chose to attempt a third option; concentrating, he attempted to force splice the boy’s instance.

As Vend used to say back in the Icepicker guild, “once you learn basic splitting, everything else is just picking up the trick.” While technically true, it had taken the dragons weeks to learn how to do it, not to mention that even after years, Euryale remained terrible at splitting, let alone anything more complicated.

In his mind, Dallion visualized two realities, each separate from the other. Then he homed in, focusing on the one he wanted. A loud snap filled his ears, as if a short circuit had occurred, and then it happened. The instance of the teen that was away vanished, leaving him entirely in the car.

“Got you,” Dallion whispered out of habit.

The teen—who had realized that something unusual had happened—quickly pulled out of the car. His glance focused on Dallion. In that second, both knew what the other was. Each was evaluating the other’s skills, assessing what the best course of action would be. It was a quick evaluation, for the boy turned around and ran almost instantly.

“Stop!” Dallion shouted, in an attempt to use music skills, as he dashed after him.

Thanks, car! He said as he rushed past her.

In response, the alarm suddenly stopped.

“Hold up!” Atol said, sprinting behind Dallion. She had managed to get out of the building rather fast as well, but was slowed down by the impractical nature of her attire. The platform boots, while subjectively stylish, made running a pain even for a former countess.

“He can split!” Dallion said.

Almost on cue, the boy they were chasing attempted to split into three instances. Sadly, for him, the attempt was no better than the last. Now that Dallion had gotten the hang of it, he quickly chose the most beneficial instance. Five seconds later, the process repeated again.

Like a deer in the headlights, Dallion thought.

The awakened had definitely not been to the awakened world. Unsure of what was going on, he attempted to use his old tricks to get away, yet only made them catch up all the more. If things continued like this, in half a minute Dallion would be able to grab him and—

Suddenly, a new splitting was triggered. Dallion felt it, and immediately followed, splitting into three instances.

Out of nowhere, a woman on a motorbike appeared, moving perpendicular to the line of pursuit. She was older than the boy, and by far more experienced. For starters, while her instances were merely two, they weren’t affected by Dallion’s force attempts.

The woman drove up to the boy, then grabbed him as effortlessly as if he were a floating T-shirt and put him on the bike behind her.

“Stop!” Atol ordered.

Music strands went in all directions, causing every ordinary person in earshot to freeze mid-step. Even the boy seemed affected, though not the woman on the bike. Instead, she reached to her belt, then sent a dagger straight at Atol. In two of Dallion’s instances, the dagger hit Atol in the chest. In the third, he managed to push her to the ground just in time to avoid it. Naturally, that instance became reality, though at a cost: the awakened teen and the woman had managed to escape.

“What the hell?!” Atol whispered, more shocked than angered. “That actually happened?”

“Yep.” Slowly, Dallion got back up.

As the effects of the music order were fading away, people in the vicinity returned to normal, which meant looking at the scene with disbelief and discussing what had occurred.

“We’ve come upon someone who’s retained an attack skill,” Dallion said what was on both their minds. “And can also split.”

“Two people who can split, that can’t be good.”

Dallion didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was only the tip of the iceberg. Despite all her attempts so far, that was the only person—or people—that Atol had managed to get firm evidence on. It had taken both of them working together, not to mention a lot of luck, to get a glimpse of them. Given how many otherworlders there were, there could be hundreds, or even thousands of awakened throughout the world; these two were those clumsy enough to let themselves be spotted.

“You two alright?” Deputy marshal “Jimmy” arrived at the scene. The actual marshal was a fair distance behind.

“Fine.” Dallion looked at the ground. The knife had slid down the pavement a short distance away. There was nothing special about it, but it remained an item and, as such, he could obtain more than enough information from it.

“Whatever you’re involved with, I need all the details,” the deputy insisted. “We’re dealing with a murder attempt here, so—”

“It’s not your case,” Atol said, using the full extent of her music skills. “We’ll handle this, though we’d appreciate the help.”

Help, Dallion said to himself. They had been sloppy. It was going to take a lot more to catch their targets, and the help of a few marshals wasn’t going to change that one bit.