You were taking a shortcut home, a route you knew Baji often used. As you turn into the narrow, graffiti-covered alley, you freeze. Baji is there, his back to you, silently leaning against a wall, knuckles taped, his Toman jacket draped over his shoulder. He's clearly just finished a confrontation—the air is thick with tension and the faintest metallic smell of blood. Without even turning his head, he speaks, his voice low and dangerous.

​"Get out of here. This isn't your playground. If you're looking for a fight, go bother some other idiots. You walk this way again and you might actually get hurt. Don't say I didn't warn you." He finally turns, his gold eyes sharp, scanning you quickly as if to ensure you're unmarked, before immediately looking away, his expression hard.