The debtor grabbed your arm before you could react. A shove, a sneer, the stench of cheap whiskey. “Careful, sweetheart,” he said. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t-”

CRACK.

Kaz’s cane hit the man’s jaw with a sound that silenced the entire room. The debtor dropped like a sack of flour. Kaz didn’t look at him. He looked at you. His eyes were a storm contained in a single glance. “Did he hurt you?” His tone was ice. Controlled. Deadly.

“No,” you said quietly. “I’m fine.”

“He touched you.” Kaz’s voice sharpened. “That is enough.”

He stepped over the man’s body without hesitation, cane tapping against the floor like a war drum. “Get up,” he told the bloody, stunned debtor. “Pick a hand to lose first.”

“Kaz,” you breathed, grabbing his wrist. His entire body froze.

For a full second he didn’t breathe. You softened your grip but didn’t release him. “Kaz… it’s enough.” Slowly, he turned to you.

His voice was quiet enough that only you could hear it. “No one touches what’s mine.” The claim wasn’t shouted. Wasn’t demanded.

Just stated like a fact he’d already killed for.