The End Of Love

[newtralize]

We were reaching in the dark
That summer in New York
And it was so far to fall
But it didn't hurt at all
And let it wash away, wash away

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[periit]

[ Spells are slung between Percival and the lead smuggler, evident enough by the bursts of lights over the walls of crates—though by the lack of shouting it’s clear none of them have landed. A blessing more than a curse, regardless if the young auror only seems to think of it as the latter. Nerves haven’t gotten to him from what he can tell, but he can’t explain why his shots are as off as they are.

Crouched behind a wooden box he looks over his shoulder to see if the director is behind him, and when he isn’t some small spark of worry knots up his stomach. If it hadn’t been for the blast that decimates the front of the cover he’s hidden behind and sends the lid flying—ultimately making Percival flee the spot—he might have seen the other, but he’s only pushed further in.

Flinging a spell down the way to the smuggler, Percival uses it as a distraction, and this time it does land. The smuggler tumbles and swears something unintelligible before trying to hobble off. Once he catches a few breaths Percival gives chase again, sure in the thought he has the upper hand. ]

[newtralize]

[Newt knew this area well. They had busted plenty of rings here before, since it was where most shipments came in and out of. His senior aurors and himself all knew how to get around and had a good idea as to how their adversaries utilized the area.

Percival, however, wasn't a senior auror. He was still getting up on his legs and he was sure the other was underestimating just who he was going up against. It wasn't that these wizards were particularly more skilled, but that they lacked care for who got hurt or what they were willing to do to accomplish their goals.

He catches up to the other and Percival seems fine. For how long is the question.] Graves!

[periit]

[ The smuggler, slower now in his escape, slings another shot towards the young auror gaining ground on him, spooking Percival just enough to tuck against more boxes for cover. It’s enough time then to see Newt come up and join him, and the relief is visible on him.

For as handled as he could be during this, there’s still something that clings to him, just as noticeable. There’s the faintest tremble in his hand, a flush to his skin from the rush of the chase, and his eyes are wide, focused on the task ahead. ]

I got him, [ Percival breathes as he spares a glance to Newt. ] Some part of him— [ He clarifies with a scrunch of his eyebrows and shake of his head. ] We need to catch up, he can’t have gotten far.