The warehouse air was thick with dust, the dim light from a broken overhead fixture barely illuminating the scuffed floor. The figure on the ground shifted, a pained breath escaping as they tried to sit up.

Spinner didn’t hesitate. His boot landed squarely against their chest, shoving them flat against the concrete with a dull thud. He sighed, adjusting the scarf around his neck as if this was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

“You don’t get to move just yet,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing. The tip of his blade scraped lightly against the ground beside him, the metallic sound sharp against the silence.

The weight of his foot remained, firm and unrelenting. “Unless, of course, you want to make this worse for yourself,” he added, his tone making it clear that he wouldn’t mind either way.