The pursuit of secrets isn't a noble course of action. At least, not with the way Chase does it. There's no drive to actually do anything with the secrets. Blackmail, justice, truth, all that is irrelevant. What's important is that he knows the secret - that's he privy to something that only a select few know. The fewer, the better. That said, he's trained himself to try and pick up even the most minute detail. After all, puzzling out whether what he learned was substantial enough to satisfy him was a game all on its own. Mysteries were best while unsolved, but still satisfying come the conclusion. Well, sometimes they were, anyway. The buildup sometimes takes on a life of its own, leading to an anticlimactic disappointment. But what's life without a little risk, right?<br/><br/>As if on cue, just as that last stray thought crossed his mind, he felt himself bump into something, full force. Luckily enough, his balance wasn't too compromised and it was at most a tumble for him. What did disorient him, though, was that he couldn't quite see who or what he just hit. In fact, he was slightly incredulous that someone as perceptive as him didn't see this person coming whatsoever. What's more, he couldn't quite recall the physique or texture he felt at the moment of impact. He picked up on that little detail almost immediately. Ask him now and he'll swear himself blind that there was no one, nothing there, to hit! With that, he abruptly stopped and took stock of the situation, unaware of anyone else in the vicinity. So focused on the situation, Chase almost jumped out of his shoes when her an eerily disembodied voice whisper an apology seemingly right next to his ear. It was discordant, hardly reminiscent of any voice he knew. To be honest, if kind of freaked him out a little.<br/><br/>He was almost starting to panic, unsure if maybe he was spiked with drugs or fed some substance without him knowing. However, it was exactly during that, caught in a moment of confusion and hardly concentrating, he managed to see a hint of blonde hair a few steps away. There was no logic to the build of the figure, more like a passing apparition or a trick of the light. In his haste to focus on just that, the image seemed to pull away. Frowning, he instead looked elsewhere and focused on a random object in the street, keeping the approximate location of the blonde hair in his periphery. Ironically, the image sharpened somewhat, as much as things outside your focused gaze could be. There was someone talking on the phone, and he caught a name. Maggie Veray. There was a sharp burst of clarity in that moment, and he clutched at his head to fight what seemed to be an impending headache. It was gone the moment he shook his head, though, and with it any trace of whatever he might've thought he'd seen.<br/><br/>In that moment, Chase felt inner turmoil, caught between excitement from his recent experience, and worry for his maybe deteriorating mental state. Man, he needed a drink.<br/><br/><br/><br/>