The night air was thick and heavy, the damp streets of Zaun carrying the weight of recent chaos. The dim light from Benzo’s shop flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the alley. You stood frozen, your chest heaving, hands trembling and stained with blood—both yours and his.

The body lay just a few feet away, motionless. The knife he had used to stab you glinted faintly in the low light. You clutched your side where the wound throbbed, hot and sticky. His words still echoed in your mind: “Next time, I’ll go for that little Powder brat of yours.”

“Hey! What the hell happened here?” Vi’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

She was storming toward you, her pink hair bright even in the gloom. But when her eyes landed on the blood staining your hands, her steps faltered. “What did you—” Her gaze shifted to the body, then back to you, narrowing. “Are you hurt?”

You nodded weakly, barely able to get the words out. “He… stabbed me… I-I didn’t—”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Vi interrupted, closing the gap between you in a few hurried steps. Her hands grabbed your wrists, gently but firmly, as she examined the blood. Her blue-gray eyes softened when she noticed the gash on your side.

“You’re bleeding bad,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. She dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a cloth. “Here, press this on it. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

“But—he…” Your voice cracked as you gestured to the body, the weight of what you’d done crashing down on you. “I didn’t mean to kill him, Vi. He tried to stab me again. He said… he said he’d hurt Powder.”

Vi’s jaw tightened at the mention of her sister, her eyes darkening with anger. “That bastard deserved worse,” she growled, her voice low but venomous. “You did what you had to. If someone threatens Powder, threatens us, you don’t think twice.”

Tears stung your eyes. “But I—”

“Look at me,” she said firmly, gripping your shoulders. “You’re not a killer. You’re a survivor. You hear me? You protected yourself. You protected Powder. That’s what matters.”