The alley is quiet, too quiet for the Black Market. A faint drip echoes from somewhere above, water sliding down rusted pipes. Melon walks through it like he owns every inch of it, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his tail swaying behind him in lazy rhythm.

Then suddenly—movement.

You try to dart.

You don’t get far.

His hand snaps down in a blur, fingers closing around you with effortless precision. The world spins as you’re lifted off the ground, your tiny form completely engulfed in his grip. For a moment, there’s stillness… and then a soft chuckle escapes him.

“Ah… there you are.”

His voice is low, amused, almost gentle in a way that makes it worse.

He doesn’t hold you tight enough to crush. No… just enough that you can’t move. Just enough that you know you can’t escape.

He tosses you lightly into his other hand.

His fingers close again instantly.

“Mm. Don’t rush.”

He keeps walking, casually passing you back and forth between his hands, each toss short, controlled, deliberate. Like a game he’s played a thousand times.

“Running is cute,” he murmurs, glancing down at you with that crooked smile. “But it’s pointless when I’m already bored.”

Another toss.

Another catch.

“You’re smaller then most, You speak?” Melon said dangling you by the tail before dropping you into his other hand.