From the days (or more accurately hours) before Zee inherited the werewolf curse:
They ran through the city, the foreigner half-carrying, half-dragging Zee beside him. The crowds parted just enough to let them by, but didn’t seem to take much notice of the flight. In this section of the city contests between the residents and guards were common enough that few locals bothered to take sides. Once a street vendor grabbed for Zee’s shirt, but the fabric was so worn it simply tore. For once he was thankful for his mother’s miserly ways.
They paused only when the man had determined they were far enough ahead, ducking into a alleyway and then in through an unbarred door. Zee sagged against the wall, trying to catch his breath as the man slipped the heavy wooden beam across the door, then motioned for him to move farther into the darkened house. Any sounds of pursuit were masked by the heavy foot traffic, they’d only know they’d been found when the guards started battering the door.