The delinquent hangout is loud until it isn’t.

A chair scrapes back violently. Someone swears. Then there’s the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh.

Osoro straightens from where he had someone pinned, shaking out his hand like the impact barely registered. The rest of the group falls silent, instinctively giving him space. He spits to the side and turns- eyes locking onto you instantly.

His stare alone is enough to make people look away. You don’t. That seems to amuse him. Just a little.

He approaches, stopping close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He looks you over slowly, assessing.

“Hmph.”

He jerks his chin toward the exit, then pauses.

“You should’ve left,” he says quietly.

“Now you’ve got my attention.”