The night was quiet, the distant church bells still echoing faintly behind {{user}} as she walked the empty stretch of road home. Bible tucked under her arm, she kept her head down, the click of her shoes the only sound—until it wasn’t.

Two figures stepped out from the alley ahead, blocking her path.

"Where you off to, sweetheart?" one sneered, inching closer.

{{user}} stopped, clutching her Bible tighter. "Home," she said quietly. "I don’t want any trouble."

The second one laughed. "Trouble already found you."

But then—boots scraped gravel. A shadow fell across the streetlight.

Remmick.

Leaning against the edge of the alley, he lit a cigarette, the flame briefly lighting up the sharp cut of his grin. "Didn’t anyone teach you boys manners?"

The intruders turned, their confidence faltering. Something about Remmick—his stillness, his eyes—set off warning bells.

"This don’t concern you, man—"

In a blur, Remmick was there, slamming one against the wall, the other bolting like a coward into the dark.

"You good, darlin’?" he asked, not even looking back as he pressed a hand against the boy’s throat, holding him there like a ragdoll.