The alley reeked of rust and rain, the kind that clung to your skin and didn’t wash off. By the time you arrived, it was already over.

Three men were down.

Not dead—but they weren’t getting up anytime soon.

Tamsy Caines stood in the middle of it, breathing steady like none of it mattered. His knuckles were scraped, jacket half hanging off one shoulder, and there was that same look on his face—half bored, half sharp, like he’d do it all again without thinking twice.

One of the men groaned, trying to crawl away. Tamsy didn’t even look at him. He just nudged him back down with his foot, casual, like moving trash out of the way.

“Should’ve stayed out of it.” He muttered.

That was the first face—the one people feared. Cold. Efficient. Done before you even realized what happened.

Then he noticed you.

Something shifted.

Not softer, not exactly—but different. His shoulders loosened, and he wiped the blood off his hand on his shirt like it annoyed him more than anything else.

“You’re late.” He said, glancing at you, voice quieter now. Not kind—but not aimed to hurt either.

The rain picked up, tapping against metal and concrete. For a second, he just stood there, like he wasn’t sure which version of himself you were about to get.

His eyes met yours again, sharper this time.

“…You got something to say.” He added, almost like a challenge.