The cops booked him efficiently with a measure of distrust and confusion. It was clear that they had no idea what was going on, or why an FBI agent had told them to apprehend a man coming off a ferry from a small port town. Nor could they understand why he had gone with them so willingly, and submitted to everything they asked of him, if he was on the run from the FBI. Of course, they didn't know that everything they took on him, the fingerprints and the photos and the DNA, was going to be corrupted before they even had a chance to put it in their system. He didn't give them a name, and they didn't find the wallet he had tucked into the inside of his shoe before leaving the ferry. He also didn't plan to stay long after they took their eyes off of him. He didn't know what exactly he was planning to do, but he did know that it wasn't likely to be hard to figure out. A police station may seem like a secure place, but it relied on a number of things that could easily be fluctuated. Any lock could be sprung, any code could be hit on the first try. And there were so many things to distract the good guards who were supposed to be keeping their eyes on him.

He could not deny that there was a small measure of trepidation in his heart at the thought of finally going against everything he had ever believed in. He had always believed in living low profile, in making enough to get by, and then a little bit extra to have a bit of fun. But he had never done anything truly illegal. At least, not until a month ago. He had realized on the ferry that there was no turning around from that point. He had stepped over the edge when he had set the mob upon Victor, and there was nothing for him to do now except accept the fall, and brace for impact upon landing. If that meant breaking out of prison and disappearing into a teeming metropolis, if that meant going against cops and the law at every turn, so be it.

What he had not known was how long the booking process would take. He did not have access to a clock of any sort, but he didn't need one either. After all, there was only one thing that time could be right where he was, and the numbers told him that when he looked. Nor did he need to know how far the Agent had to drive, or how fast she was going. It seemed this agent had become a part of his life, and the numbers were aiding him in it. He barely had to focus at all to bring her forward in the numbers. In some ways, it was disconcerting. She must be at least a hundred miles, maybe two, and distance usually had an incredibly strong impact on his abilities. Why could he still find her? And why hadn't he been able to do that this morning, when a little bit of heads up would have given him all the notice he needed to get away cleanly? The answer to the second one, at least, was easy. He had allowed himself to believe that she would never be able to track him across the country. He hadn't been looking.

By the time they were finished booking him, he was already almost out of time. He released the numbers relating to the samples they had taken, allowing them to settle back into the general world. The chances that they would get anything useful from their time was almost zero. Had he allowed himself the time, it would have been an easy thing to gloat over, as it had been a particularly skilled example of his ability. But he had bigger concerns at the moment. If he wasn't careful, that FBI agent was going to walk into the building before he had a chance to get out of it. And she had such a strange effect on him and the world around him that he did not want to dare risk that. Which meant he was going to have to get sloppy. He would miss something, and his getaway would not be perfectly clean. With days to prepare his escape he could make sure that nothing, human or machine, noticed him leaving. With ten minutes, his ability to get away without any human noticing him was not even close to certain. There was no way he was going to be able to make it look as though he just vanished.

But he knew that, the moment he stepped off the ferry and accepted the handcuffs. He knew what the price for his cooperation at that time would be, and he was fully prepared to pay it. This was no moment to be getting cold feet. The police officer who had led him through the entire booking process, plus the few additional measures they had taken at the agent's request, now led him towards the back of the precinct, and walked him into a cell. He sat down quietly and waited with blank eyes while the officer uncuffed him and walked out of his cell. And it wasn't all luck that she didn't stay to keep an eye on him. There was a call waiting for her, a call that her boss had decided was important enough that she needed to take. And the man who was coming to replace her had just spilled half a cup of coffee all over himself, and was rushing away to the bathroom to clean himself up. The fact that this happened to be the new white shirt that his wife had just bought him last weekend, though, was a happy coincidence.

He stood, staring at the camera in the corner of the wall that was pointed right at his cell. He closed his eyes, focusing all of his attention on the numbers. After a brief glance at the location of the agent, only five minutes away, he pushed her out of his mind, and began to quickly work. He didn't have much time, and there was so much chaos in the precinct that nothing could go perfectly. He would have to break the lock, rather than getting it to spring open, and many of the cops were going to find themselves suddenly engaged in rather unexpected and embarrassing situations. He gave himself two minutes, two minutes to try and account for every variable that could possibly arise. And then he began.

In the security room, the guard watching the cameras suddenly felt something damp spreading through his pants. He let out a surprised yell, turning away from the monitors. What on earth could have possibly caused him to just lose control of his bladder? The lock holding Ethan's door closed suddenly gave way on his third violent tug, and he stepped out into the hallway. The officer that had been about to pass in front of the door to the cells found the papers in his hand tumbling to the floor; as he bent down to gather them Ethan calmly walked out of the jail. The one man who did notice his progress took one look at his calm attitude and purposeful stride and dismissed him as someone who was supposed to be there.

The secretary who had pressed the button for the elevator felt her phone begin to vibrate. In an attempt to answer it she dropped her suitcase, which popped open, scattering pencils and paper everywhere. The nearby officer quickly walked over to help her clean up, just in time to miss a certain green-eyed man, who stepped into the elevator just as the doors began to close.

The first floor was significantly more empty, but there was almost nothing Ethan could do about the security guard who was watching the front door. All he could hope to do was stall the man long enough to gain a little bit of distance. He didn't have time for anything more elegant. When the guard looked his way, Ethan raised a friendly hand, but didn't slow. The guard only spared him a glance before returning to his magazine. But Ethan wouldn't make it to the door with that alone. The guard was going to look up again when Ethan was right in front of him, and this time there was no way he would mistake him for one of the officers that worked here. By the time he stood and tried to top Ethan, he would be out the door.

The alarm sounded only a couple seconds behind his egress. Perhaps the security guard might have been willing to let him leave, except the man who had brought Ethan in from the ferry had stopped briefly to speak to that same guard, who had gotten a very good look at Ethan. There would be chaos behind him shortly, as every guard began to respond to the alarm. The fact that the fire alarm went off when a person who had been popping popcorn noticed a burning smell and opened the microwave would only add to the confusion.

The agent was less than a minute away, but now that he was clear of the building Ethan broke out into a run. The two alarms were drawing a lot of attention on the street, which both aided and hindered him. People swarmed to anything out of the ordinary, but therefore many more people might notice him and be able to point in the direction he went.

But when he slipped into the side alley undetected he released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Now he was safe. By the time the officers got everything figured out he would have vanished into the teeming humanity of Seattle, with nothing to mark where he was going.