Sam was exhausted, but he was getting used to that. For days he had been running on short sleep. Chasing leads and meeting with locals, both shadowfolk and legitimate citizens, kept him up all hours of the day and night When he could sleep he got little rest, always troubled by dreams, vague fantasies of pursuit where he shifted roles from the hunter to the hunted. In those nocturnal excursions he was running, always running. Not the pleasing freedom of the chase, however, but the desperate, panting flight of knowing someone or something powerful is just behind one’s tail. So far, he had not glimpsed his nightmarish pursuer.