Run. [on hold]

III

Hayden's POV
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Hammock swinging from left to right, making a slight creak noise of the rope against the rough wood, I lay awake under the canvas roof. The eerie silence of the North settles in my bones like lead. Not a sound can be heard other than the occasional swing of a hammock or the rustling of rats, running through the mess of the so called 'streets'. The rise and fall of the people's chests around me giving off the only sign of life.
Lying there, I recall the last few days over in my head. The rush of moving to the Tarps and managing to stay low, trying to avoid any unwanted attention. Silently, I sit up, grabbing my smaller throwing knife and sliding it into my belt. Swinging my legs over my hammock, I quickly tie up my black combat boots and throwing on my black leather jacket.
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Walking on automatic, I find myself sitting in a spot where I can see over the Arc. I'm rested in the old bell tower, sitting in the windowsill. From here I can see the old rickety bridge and the alley, leading to the drop-outs. Slumped figures stick out in the darkness, their shadows creating eerie shapes. They come out from the alley in all the cracks in the walls. I've grown accustomed to seeing this. The dark shadowy figures. But when the new shapes step out from the bundle of shadowy mess I know something's up.
Watching a little longer, the mass lump seems to form into three smaller ones. Scrunching my eyes closed, I feel a familiar burning sensation in my eyelids. When I ease open my eyes, instead of seeing shadows cast in every direction, I see the heat. Body heat. The once deformed black shape now leading to a crumpled body leaning against the grim alley wall. Focusing back on the mass group, I see three bodies. Walking across the bridge. Blinking in shock my eye sight returns to normal and I quickly scramble down the ladder to the gate.
Feet finding the rungs easily from habit, I crawl down to the bottom of the tower. Leaning down low I run across the courtyard of the Tarps, reaching into my belt and slipping a cool knife into my hand. The moon providing the only light in the pitch black night, I quickly close my eyes once more, feeling my veins grow to boil. Slowly opening my eyes I adjust to see the heat of everything around me, allowing me see better in the dark.  After hearing the soft rapping of knuckles against wood, I melt into the shadows behind me, awaiting the entrance of the newcomers, fiddling with my throwing knives in each hand.
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