The footsteps had faded, and soon she was only running only to the beat of her own footsteps. People had no doubt already noticed the noise in the more residential areas, as quiet as her boots were on cobblestone, but she didn't care at that point. Trinan was still unarmed, by choice. The shovel clipped to the bag behind her back and the knife tied around her left boot's ankle. Neither would be necessary but that said she was far gone enough to think she was starting the fight if there wasn't one when she got there. Where 'there' was was, for the most part a mystery, as she worked her way around the area where her quarry's footsteps had died away. Someone was cleaning up the mess and it wasn't her. If it came to it, she supposed she could have gone back and talked it out if the guard even asked her questions. Of course they would, and it would mean her way into the palace being jeopardized. Residential buildings, merchant stalls, and a lone warehouse were the contents of the lane if she was cutting her zones right. The only time she'd had to look over a map of ever-growing Mullen was aboard the Roumont at the times when she wasn't over a rail seasick. Stopping a movement short of running her hand through her wine soaked hair, she strode up to the door of the warehouse and knocked, a drawn out, slow three raps upon the door. For a moment, presenting her badge seemed like a good idea, but the voice that told her to pursue in the first place was then suggesting that it remain a problem between two bar patrons.