For anyone wondering, I finished my chapter last night and will post it as soon as I get home from work. Consider this a placeholder post.

EDIT for chapter

As Jesse fled far from his homeland, other events were taking place.
The fires had died down in the police station, leaving smoldering heaps of debris within the gutted building. Firefighters had come and gone, speaking vaguely about beginning the work of salvage soon. The media hounds came also, describing the fire as an act of terror, emphasizing the depravity of an enemy that would do such things. The death of one officer and injury of another became yet another political tool, a weapon of a different sort in the war.

Adrian sat in an uncomfortable metal-framed chair, bandaged hands wrapped around a thick ceramic coffee mug. He stared fixedly down at the waterstains marking the cheap pasteboard table in front of him. Across from him, looking equally uncomfortable, sat an elderly-looking rabbit, fidgiting and looking frequently at the clock that adorned the otherwise bare wall.
Adrian shifted his attention to that wall. It might have been white once, but was yellowed with age and grime. Cleaner streaks, carved through the dirt by water, marked where the roof leaked. The paint peeled near the ceiling. Bare, dirty lightbulbs adorned the ceiling, casting a distinctly yellow light over the room. The lighting did not flatter the other rabbit, making him look even older and wearier. It sparked off of Adrian's dark fur.
Adrian's companion cleared his throat rustily, clearly hoping to break the awkward silence but instead making it even more awkward. The old relic ought to have been retired years ago, Adrian thought uncharitably. He had been answering the same questions for the past half-hour, and was in a decidedly uncharitable mood.
"So," the aging rabbit said unctuously, clasping his pudgy hands on the table in front of him. He leaned forwards, making the chair creak dangerously. Adrian entertained thoughts of the overburdened chair collapsing beneath the substantial weight of his interrogator, depositing the ineffectual idiot in an undignified heap on the floor.
"So," the other repeated again, the chair having held up despite Adrian's fantasies to the contrary. "Can you describe your attacker once more for me?"
Adrian lifted chilly, pale eyes to the other's weak face. He had described Jesse, in detail, four times already, losing more patience with each repetition. Now he was past anger, feeling only numbness. He was tired, so very tired of this. Something must have shown on his face, for the other swallowed with some difficulty and repeated the question. Adrian deliberated, looking down into his still-full cup. His wintery eyes lifted again.
"No," he said thoughtfully. No inflection betrayed the emotion he might have felt. His back hurt. The bandages felt wet again. His hands still bled, freely though infrequently. He suspected that they were bleeding again. "No ... I do believe I'm done for today," he said, making a token effort at politeness. If anything, it frightened the other rabbit all the more. Adrian rose from the rickety chair and gently set the cup down on the table.
"We're not finished, Adrian," the other told him. Adrian smiled humorlessly.
"That's where you're wrong," he said. "We are. Good day." He turned and walked out of the room. The dented metal door shut behind him with a satisfying finality.
Adrian walked aimlessly, seeking only to leave the run-down hospital behind. His thoughts centered on the cause of his current woes, Jesse.
Adrian was an experienced spymaster. He had directed numerous operations, and executed countless others on his own. He was not stupid, nor careless, but he had to admit that he had seriously erred with Jesse. Syamin's loss was more than acceptable; had the moronic officer not died in the fire, Adrian would have seen him executed for his fumbling.
Even Syamin's disastrous error could have been rectified. But somehow, somehow, a boy ten years Adrian's junior had not only defied them, but fought and escaped him. And that was not acceptable
Adrian was not satisfied with the promises he had recieved, that Jesse would be found and dealt with. He had been a government agent for too long to rely on the empty words of his employers. If it was to be done properly, he would have to do it himself.
He found himself at the ruined station. His hands ached. He really shouldn't have been walking yet, but the pain in his feet wasn't so bad. He would have to watch how he moved; the burnt stripes across his back were newly healed and would break open easily. The fire had left Adrian badly hurt, skin completely charred in places. The hospital had patched him up but the pain still lingered. Another indignity that Jesse had to answer for. And he would answer.
Adrian's cell rang. He answered it without taking his eyes from the ruins.
"Adrian."
"Adrian, I heard what happened. Are you all right?" The tinny voice, full of over-done concern, belonged to the man who had been Adrian's handler in the government. The spymaster had worked without him for the past six years.
"Raspen. I assume you have a good reason for contacting me."
"Look, Adrian, I know we didn't part on the best of terms -"
Adrian snorted. Their parting words had been less than civilized. He still seethed inwardly when he considered how Raspen had abandoned him to the wolves, so to speak, at the height of an operation.
"- but I'm calling you onto a job."
"I'm already on a job. Get yourself another operative."
"Not anymore. They're pulling you off and putting you on a different one. Low-profile. In case this guy comes after you."
"Oh, sure. Now tell me the real why."
"You have too much publicity up there," Raspen almost shouted. "We both know it, Adrian! You can't operate as efficiently."
"And what about the kid?"
"Forget Jesse. We'll deal with him. You screwed up, Adrian. Now you get to work it off."
Adrian snarled wordlessly. Raspen's words had been anticipated.
"Screw you, Raspen. I'll deal with Jesse myself."
"Not happening. We'll do what it takes to bring you in, Adrian, if we have to."
"Try it," Adrian said, feeling an icy calm settle over him. "I dare you to."
"Threats don't work, Adrian. It's over for you, my friend."
"Spare me the melodramatics. I will deal with Jesse."
"Adrian -"
Adrian snapped the phone shut and pocketed it. It began to ring again, insistently. He ignored it.
It was time to deal with Jesse.

The roads were clear as Adrian left the town behind, at the wheel of a "borrowed" police vehicle. He would have to ditch it soon, it was too easily traced. He ran a thumb over the fresh bandages on his hands, which had stopped bleeding finally.
He intended to know who exactly Jesse was before he traced the boy's steps. Knowing his enemy would give him ways to anticipate and get at Jesse, so that he could silence the boy. Adrian was a perfectionist. Leaving an error like Jesse unrectified was unimaginable.
He flipped his cellphone open and stiffly thumbed in a number, glancing frequently at the mirror. There would be no pursuit for some time, Adrian being the only surviving agent in the town. Demyas would have his hands full, and explaining why he was chasing his superior would take time.
The phone rang without answer. Finally, a recording came on.
"Hi, you've reached Fierro Dembarra. I'm not in right now, but if you'll leave your name and number, I'll get back to you." The standard voicemail greeting. Adrial swore but didn't hang up.
"Fierro, it's Adrian. Call me ASAP. No official channels." He ended the call and dialled another number.
Two rings and a breathy female voice said, "hello?"
"Hayley, it's Adrian," he said calmly. "Can you talk?"
"Adrian," she said, losing her breathiness in record time. "It's been a while. Go for it."
"I need an ID on someone." He described Jesse briefly to Hayley, who remained attentively silent. "He may be in trouble with the law," he added. "No official channels, Hayley."
Hayley was quiet for a moment. "You gone rogue, Adrian?" she asked, a strange tone to her voice.
"In a sense," Adrian said. "Unofficial assignment. I need this fast."
"I'll call you when I have it," Hayley assured him. Adrian thanked her and hug up.
Other agents would have lied to Hayley and assured her that they were still clean. Adrian knew better. His contact system was built on mutual trust. One lie found out, and it invariably would be, would muddy the waters, break the trust, and Adrian would suddenly find himself unable to trust the information he was being fed. He expected Fierro to ask the same question. He would answer similarly.
Adrian had one more call to make. Fierro and Hayley were excellent informants and would get back to him soon, but more needed to be done to give him time. Flipping open his phone one last time, he punched in a 12-digit number from memory and listened to it ring.
On the fifth ring, the phone was picked up on the other end in silence.
"It's Adrian," the spymaster said quietly. "I need your help."
"You screwed up," the other said quietly, in a soft androgynous voice.
"Yes," Adrian admitted. "I need you to keep my trail clean."
"You know what I require."
"I'll see what I can do. I'll fill you in later on my plans. Call me when the pursuit starts and keep me updated."
The other did not have to reassure Adrian that it would be done. There was a brief pause and then the reciever was gently replaced in the cradle and the line went dead.
Adrian hung up and drove on.

That night Jesse dreamed, and as he did his sleep became restless and light, for the face that haunted his dreams was the face of Jonathan.