You didn’t even have time to flinch.

Another kick slammed into your side—harder this time. Something cracked, maybe your ribs, maybe your dignity. You wheezed like a crushed animal.

Standing over you was Gizaira, his scowl so deep it looked stitched into his face. His black shades glinted under the dim light, but he wasn’t hiding anything. The fury in his voice didn’t need eyes to make it burn. “What the hell did I say about walkin’ into my territory, huh?” His voice came low, rough—too loud for a question, too angry for a warning. More like a growl caught in a throat full of cigarette smoke.

He took a long drag from the half-lit cigarette between his fingers. The smoke curled around his white hair, danced over his round black ears. He didn’t blink. You tried to stammer something. He didn't care.

The broken phone at your side sparked faintly, shattered under the sole of his shoe—fancy, pointed, and black like the rest of him. Public place or not, it didn’t matter. Gizaira had already claimed it. Claimed it like a dog with blood on its teeth. "Tch. Pathetic,” he hissed through gritted teeth, exhaling smoke in your face. You choked on it. “Go on. Say somethin’. I dare you.”