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fast
as
he
ran,
Felipe
had
him
at
the
advantage.
Fast
Felipe,
    the
man
who’d
stunned
circus-‐goers
time
and
time
again
for
being
there
one
moment,
and
    seemingly
vanished
the
next.
The
man
who
somersaulted
so
quickly,
he
became
a
blur.
The
    man
who
could
use
the
speed
of
the
wind
as
his
own.
    He
had
to
make
a
quick
decision.
Take
the
weak
one
who’d
been
too
distracted
to
see
    him,
or
try
to
stop
the
strong
one.
    Strong.
And
his
choice
wasn’t
about
machismo.
It
was
about
assessing
probable
    outcomes
and
likelihood
of
success.
He
knew
he
could
take
either
creature.
He’d
done
it
    before,
but
he
wanted
to
leave
as
little
chance
of
risk
for
the
others
as
possible.
Sarah
could
    bitch
about
it
later.
He
looked
forward
to
it,
in
fact,
and
grinned
as
his
skin
meshed
with
the
    surrounding
air.
    As
he
disappeared,
already
moving
toward
the
woods,
Sarah
ran
shouting,
“I’m
out
of
    bullets—”
and
her
eyes
went
wide,
staring
his
direction.
    He
knew
why.
He
was
there,
and
then
he
wasn’t.
    “Felipe?”
    He
said
nothing
because
he
had
no
mouth.
He
passed
Tamara,
now
struggling
to
her
    feet,
and
willed
his
unbound
feet
to
hit
the
ground
harder—faster—setting
his
sights
on
the
    trees
and
praying
he
wouldn’t
lose
the
faster
mercenary
to
the
woods.
If
he
made
it
that
far,
    he
could
shift
into
any
number
of
beasts
and
Felipe
wouldn’t
be
able
to
tell
if
he
were
    dealing
with
man
or
animal.
    He
pushed
harder,
faster,
until
he
overtook
the
injured
mercenary,
but
he
didn’t
stop
    completely.
He
re-‐materialized
long
enough
to
whisk
a
leg
in
front
of
the
gimp,
and
sent
    him
crashing
to
the
ground
with
a
grunt.
    He
kept
moving,
phasing
as
he
went.
He
didn’t
turn
to
see
if
Sarah
had
followed.
He’d
    just
have
to
trust
she
had.
    He
focused
all
his
concentration
his
body’s
movement,
imagining
he
was
wind
being
    expelled
from
a
turbine,
and
found
another
jolt
of
speed.
Never
before
had
he
moved
so
    quickly
in
that
shapeless
form,
and
suddenly
he
understood
why
Jacques
kept
him
and

    FRAMING FELIPE
–
41
–
Holley Trent

    Fabian
on
such
short
leashes.
Was
this
how
their
father
had
been?
Wild
and
dangerous?
    This
freedom—this power —was
exhilarating
yet
terrifying
at
the
same
time.
If
he
kept
at
it,
    would
he
be
like
some
plane
that’d
lost
structural
cohesion
a
mile
over
the
Earth?
Would
he
    send
all
this
bits
scattered
into
the
woods,
never
able
to
piece
them
together
again?
What
    would
that
mean
for
his
soul?
Would
he
just
perish—fade
away
without
his
human
    trappings,
or
were
they
just
an
illusion,
anyway?
    Stop
philosophizing.
Save
the
energy.
    He
drew
his
physical
form
together,
binding
cells
and
blood
and
flesh
and
fabric
just
in
    time
to
cut
in
front
of
the
fleeing
mercenary
and
throw
his
hundred
and
seventy
pounds
    onto
the
man’s
charging
form.
They
fell
to
the
soggy
ground
with
grunts,
and
before
the
    hired
gun
could
work
out
what
had
transpired,
Felipe
had
has
hand
on
the
side
of
the
    mercenary’s
head
and
pushed
his
nose
and
cheek
into
the
leafy
thatch.
    “Stay
still, puta ,”
Felipe
said,
pressing
his
other
arm
against
the
man’s
throat.
“Don’t
do
    anything
stupid.”
    Tamara
jogged
over,
her
pretty
face
pulled
into
a
scowl
and
clothes
stained
red.
With
a
    muttered
oath
in
her
native
tongue,
she
reared
back
and
delivered
a
well-‐placed
kick
to
the
    man’s
side.
Felipe
had
barely
gotten
out
of
the
way
before
the
blow
connected.
    The
mercenary
howled
in