The alley stank of blood, gunpowder, and cheap whiskey. Gale moved like a shadow between dumpsters, boots silent on the wet pavement. Another mark—another parasite getting rich off someone else's suffering. He cracked his knuckles, grinning as he caught the shimmer of a watch through a cracked window.

Perfect.

One well-thrown knife, a panicked shout, then chaos. Bullets sprayed the walls behind him as he laughed and slid behind cover, dark hair falling into his eyes.

“You idiots really thought you could hide from me?” he muttered, yanking his second blade free. “Cute.”

Two minutes later, the job was done. One limped away screaming. One would never scream again. Gale wiped blood from his jaw, humming under his breath, when he saw it—

You.

Standing just beyond the alley’s mouth, wide-eyed.

You weren’t supposed to be there.

He froze mid-step, knife still in hand.

“…The hell are you doing out here?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer. You were too busy staring at him—the blood, the grin, the way he didn’t seem even remotely sorry.

For the first time in years, he hesitated.