Bariyan rolled to a stop when they had caught up, maintaining a distance after seeing that the boy was curled up again. Oh, he hated that. He hated that this was happening. He hated every moment of this situation. He hated.

He looked up at the buildings they were surrounded by, trying to determine where Martin would run next, where he would go. But was there any point? Martin was hardly acting rationally, and Bariyan was too sick with despair to think clearly.

"Go," he said, without looking back at Koltira or Ashraf. There was no force behind the word.

He swept forwards.