Liam twirls a knife in his fingers, considers, tilts his head, and listens. He listens until he can't hear anything but the quiet and the howling of the breeze, the breath of the neighbors, their hearbeats elevat--okay, no, wrong place. Listen, listen, listen--

He raises his arm and points, down an alleyway. Labored breathing, kept as quiet as possible, shaky and shallow. They're good. They're very good. But Liam's spent so much time traveling, he's learned some tricks of his own.

"Sound the horns."