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It was so easy to run, as if it required no effort, as if it was more natural to run than to walk. Someone stepped out from a shop in front of him, and he swiped past the flaps of their coat. He slowed down a little to ensure he had control, and when the turn came up, he went right.

‘I reached the turn,’ he told Garovel.

‘Keep going straight until you see the ramp onto the highway and take it.’

People were becoming a blur, so he slowed his pace again. A crowd filled the sidewalk up ahead. Hector could see himself nearly keeping pace with the cars, so he ran into the street. Striding the white lines between lanes and not feeling winded in the slightest, he couldn’t help laughing inside his mask as he searched for a road speed sign. He saw one that said “40 km/h.”

Once he boarded the highway, however, the cars began speeding past him again. He pushed his legs as hard as he could, and he was sure that he was running much faster than he had been previously, but the cars still roared by, and he stuck to the shoulder of the road. The next sign he saw said “110 km/h.”

Still, after what must have been at least half an hour of running, he exited the highway, per Garovel’s instructions, and found himself breathing heavily but not gasping. He figured his blood still needed all the extra air, but his muscles didn’t hurt or feel tired in the slightest.

He soon arrived in a quieter neighborhood. He could see the police car parked in a driveway up the street. When he saw the reaper approaching, he slowed to a walk.