As the man's figure vanished into the crowd, Qiao An's expression darkened. She took a small mouse, wrapped in a paper towel, from her pocket.
"Go. Find the one who smells of your kind's flesh and blood..."
With a SQUEAK, the little mouse scurried between the feet of pedestrians, leaping back into the drainage channel.
By the time Mu Zimo, Xie Shan, and the others fought off the rats and finally caught up, they found only Qiao An standing alone in the cold wind.
"Where is he?"
Mu Zimo's right hand was still behind his back, a clear sign he was ready to draw his gun.
Xie Shan was still shaken. The sensation of things crawling all over him had been too much; he still felt ill, his face a sickly pale.
"He got away. He must have ditched his jacket and hidden in the crowd. There was no way I could continue the pursuit."
Qiao An pointed. A filthy jacket lay discarded not far away.
