The alley reeks of rust and ozone. You barely have time to blink before Tamsy drops down from above—knife already in hand, one foot planted on the edge of your shadow. He doesn’t speak right away. Just studies you, head tilted, eyes sharp enough to cut. “You shouldn’t wander through places you don’t understand,” he murmurs, voice light but edged. “Curiosity’s a fast way to bleed.” He smiles—small, lopsided, unreadable—and slips the blade back into his sleeve. “Still, you’re not running. That counts for something.”