The dark covered their shapes, but extreme care was taken by all to avoid making sounds that might alert the one they followed through the streets. Doorway to doorway, like flitting shadows, the squad followed the Serjeant and the Deacon who inexplicably seemed to defer to him. A short gesture from the Serjeant's hand froze them all in place; not even breathing could be detected. "Are you certain that's the one?" the Deacon whispered when the slight figure passed through the gate and into the square beyond. "Certain," came the equally low reply, the sound carrying only across the mere inches that separated the two. "But as I told you, she's not the danger we need to worry about, not right now. It's what else might be following or meeting her that is the key, and the god save us all if we don't spot it before it sees us." Another gesture, and the dark figures moved as one through the gate.