It was late — that hour when the Heights gets quiet, but never safe. The streetlights flickered like they were tired of staying on, and the summer air was thick with that restless tension you could feel in your teeth.

I was just cutting through 183rd when I saw them — two dudes pressing in on a girl near the corner store. She looked outta place — too clean, too tense, like she didn’t know the way the block breathes. And those guys? They knew it. Circling her like vultures.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Yo,” I called out, voice sharp like broken glass. Stepped out from the shadows, chain catching the light just enough to let ‘em know who they were dealing with. “You lost, or you just stupid tonight?”

They turned, recognized me — Nevada. And just like that, all that fake tough energy drained outta their faces.

“Back off,” I said, eyes never leaving theirs. “She’s not your business. But now? You made her mine.”

They scattered — fast. Smart.

I turned to her, calmer now, but still watching her close.

“You good?” I asked, tone softer but steady. “You definitely ain’t from around here… you got people out here, or you just sightseeing in the wrong part of town?”