Jack spotted Tully first, just as the man crossed the square from his shop on the east side, drifting past the street food stalls on his way towards West Street. Same route. Same time.
Routine made men predictable.
Predictable made them easy.
The fish stall was busy. Flatbread wraps stacked high, strips of spiced river fish sizzling over coals, the smell of oil, salt, and something sharp and citrus cutting through the heat of the square. Someone nearby was selling skewers of something small and blackened, still twitching slightly on the stick, drawing a cluster of curious buyers. Jack's stomach tightened at the smell. He hadn't eaten since morning.
That wasn't unusual.
Tully passed the stall without so much as a glance, too busy being important. A beggar reached for him as he passed and caught a sharp kick for the effort. The man didn't hesitate. Didn't look back. He wore his usual bright tunic, loud enough to draw the eye - Tully liked to look like a man who was doing well for himself, whether he was or not.
As it happened, Jack knew he was having a better week than usual. A noble's daughter had taken a liking to his dresses.
The purse at his left hip was bulging, heavy enough to drag the fabric down.
Billy was in position at the southern entrance to the square, pretending to argue over the price of bread with a stallholder who'd already cuffed him once for pushing his luck. He was leaning into it now, voice raised just enough to draw attention without escalating it too far.
Frogger was up on the warehouse roof, stretched out along the tiles with a clear view of the watch posts. Jack didn't look up at him directly. Didn't need to. Frogger would signal if anything shifted.
No whistles. No movement.
The square was clean.
A moment later, Kate slipped into view behind the merchant, hood up, weaving through the crowd without ever forcing her way through it. A loose strand of hair had fallen at her temple, catching the light for a second before disappearing again beneath the hood. People shifted around her without knowing why.
She made it look easy.
Years of this, and she was still better than him without even trying. She didn't look at him straight away - she never did until she was ready - but when her gaze shifted it caught his all the same.
She was in position.
The usual flicker of anticipation settled in.
Then she turned, and he saw it. The bruise along her cheekbone. Faded yellow at the edges, darker underneath. Jack's focus slipped for a fraction of a second.
Where had that come from?
Kate turned into the crowd before he could get a better look.
Tully had stopped ahead, arguing with a customer at a jewellery stall, blocking the flow behind him. People bunching. Space tightening.
Perfect.
Kate adjusted her shawl. That was the signal.
Jack moved - then checked himself. Too soon and he'd crowd her. Too late and the moment would pass. The man behind him shifted, pressing forward with the rest of the crowd, forcing Jack a half-step closer than he wanted. Heat, sweat, the press of bodies tightening as the flow slowed.
Tully was still talking. Still distracted.
Jack angled slightly, letting another body slip between him and the merchant, resetting his position, giving himself a cleaner line.
Then he stepped in.
He let the crowd carry him the last few steps, matching their pace, blending into the slow press of bodies behind Tully. No need to rush. Kate brushed past the merchant, her shoulder catching his arm just enough to turn him further.
"What are you -"
Jack stepped in from the other side. His hand found the purse easily, fingers closing around the cord as he eased it loose from the merchant's belt. Kate moved into position across from him, slipping through the crowd with that same quiet certainty, and as she passed the merchant the corner of her mouth lifted just slightly, like she already knew how it would play out.
Jack couldn't take his eyes off her.
His fingers slipped.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. Then the cord gave way with a sharp snap - louder than it should have been. He felt it more than heard it. The sudden shift in weight. The wrong kind of movement.
Too obvious.
He turned with it, already moving, passing it off without looking. Kate took it clean.
But the damage was done.
Tully's hand went straight to his belt. No pause. No confusion.
"Thief!"
Jack pushed forward immediately, angling towards the first gap before it could close. The shout spread through the crowd, turning heads, slowing people just enough to make things awkward - not blocked, just inconvenient.
He clipped the edge of a stall as he passed. Wood cracked. Fruit spilled. Something soft burst underfoot as people stumbled around him, the neat order of the market dissolving in an instant. A woman shouted. Someone went down hard.
Jack didn't look back. That should buy him a second. No more.
Kate was beside him for a moment, keeping pace without looking at him, her expression calm and controlled, as if this were just another walk through the square. Then she broke away, turning sharply into the alley on the left.
Jack kept going straight.
Split the pursuit. That was always the plan - assuming the watch didn't get clever.
He glanced back, just long enough. Tully was still coming, fast, which meant that purse had more crowns than coppers in it. The guards were closer now as well, pushing through the crowd with purpose. The first whistle cut through the noise, then another, closer.
His stomach tightened.
Too quick.
Jack pushed harder, forcing his way through the thinning crowd as the edge of the square came into view, the noise of the market breaking apart behind him into shouts and whistles as he hit the wider alley beyond.
This should be the easy part. A few turns and he'd lose them.
He rounded the corner - and swore.
A cart lay smashed across the alley, one wheel torn free, the rest twisted across the path in a tight uneven barrier that left no clean line through. Behind him, boots hit stone. Closer than he liked.
Going around would cost him too much.
So he didn't.
He ran straight at it - adjusted mid-stride, eyes flicking upward - then committed. Two quick steps onto the broken frame and he jumped.
His hands caught the edge of the balcony above. For a second his grip slipped, fingers scraping, weight dragging him back.
Then something caught. Just enough.
He tightened his grip and hauled himself up before it could give way again, swinging a leg over the railing and dropping into the room beyond.
Two people stared at him from across the space, frozen mid-conversation.
Jack didn't break stride.
"Afternoon."
A narrow door stood ajar at the far end. He went through it without slowing into a tight staircase, steep and worn smooth in the centre from years of use. He took them two at a time, boots striking hard enough to echo up the shaft, the sounds of the chase following a moment later - muffled first, then clearer as the noise spilled into the building below.
They were inside now. Closer than he wanted.
The door at the top resisted when he hit it - swollen wood, poor fit. He shoved harder. It gave with a crack, bursting open into the light.
The roof air hit him immediately. Cooler. Cleaner. For a brief second it felt like stepping into a different city altogether, the noise dropping away, the press of bodies gone.
Jack didn't stop to enjoy it.
The tiles were uneven beneath his boots, loose in places where the mortar had worn away. He adjusted without thinking, feet finding the safer lines out of habit more than sight.
Below him the chase dragged along the street in broken fragments - shouts, whistles, the dull rhythm of boots on stone.
The roof narrowed ahead where two buildings met at an awkward angle, a ridge of cracked tiles running along the join barely wide enough for steady footing. Jack slowed - not much, but enough.
This part wasn't about speed. It was about not falling.
He stepped onto the ridge, one foot then the other, the city dropping away on both sides into an alley cluttered with crates and broken timber far below.
A fall here wouldn't kill him. But it would end the chase.
A whistle shrilled again, closer, and he crossed the ridge cleanly and pushed on.
The next section dipped suddenly with no clean way down. Jack went over the edge anyway, hit the lower roof hard and rolled, the impact jolting through his shoulder before he came back to his feet with his breath knocked loose but not gone.
He kept moving.
Something shifted behind him - the rhythm of pursuit changing, spreading out, less certain.
They were losing him. Or trying something else.
The smell reached him before the canal did. Stagnant water, rot, the slow heavy scent of a city discarding what it no longer wanted. Then the gap came into view - dark water sliding below, thick and sluggish, carrying scraps of wood and cloth and something that might once have been alive.
Not wide. Not narrow either.
Jack slowed for a single step, judged it once, then again.
He could make it. Probably.
The tiles beneath his boots shifted slightly as he adjusted his footing.
Loose. Unreliable. Not ideal.
Behind him a door slammed open. Boots on tile, faster now, closer.
Too late to stop now.