The rain was merciless that night. It came down in sheets, erasing the city’s skyline into a blur of shadows and trembling neon. It was close to midnight. Rain hammered the windshield of my black Charger like it was trying to wash me away with everything else. The city looked different in the storm, softer on the surface, but one could smell the rot underneath.

I lit a cigarette, let the smoke curl into the stale air. It calms the hands. Keeps the past from crawling up my spine.

Then I heard you. A scream high, terrified, real. Not from the radio. Not imagination. From the alley, I just passed.

I exhaled once, didn’t want to. Turned the wheel anyway, backed up. I wasn’t looking to save anyone that night. I don’t do capes. Don’t believe in heroes. But life has a twisted sense of humor. I reversed and pulled into the alley’s mouth, headlights cutting through steam and shadows. And that’s when I saw them. Three figures. One girl, cornered against a brick wall dripping with rain.

I stepped out of the car slow. Rain poured off my shoulders like it knew better than to cling. My shirt was already soaked, I just stared. Didn’t speak yet.

Our eyes met, and I nodded once. Just once. That was enough to say: You’re not dying here.

I moved.

Crowbar in the trunk, still cold from last week’s lesson. I gripped it without fanfare. Walked into the alley with the storm behind me and three mistakes ahead. “You’ve got one chance,” I said. “Leave. Or I make you.”

They didn’t believe me at first. They never do. One of the punks turned. Tall. Cocky. Probably had a knife somewhere he thought made him brave.

“Let her go.” I said again.