The alley is narrow and quiet, the kind of place the city forgets exists. Trash bags slump against brick walls, and a single flickering light buzzes overhead. Spinner rests with his back against the cold concrete, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed like he’s half-asleep. His breathing is slow. Controlled. Almost lazy.

Your fingers brush the edge of his belt.

Instantly, one of his eyes opens.

“You’re brave,” he says quietly, not moving at all. “Or stupid.”

In a blur, his hand snaps out and clamps around your wrist, crushing tight before you can react. He pushes off the wall, towering over you, grip unyielding.

“You really thought I wouldn’t feel that?” he mutters, tilting his head. “I keep my eyes closed so people get careless. Looks like it worked.”

He leans in slightly, voice low and dangerous.

“Now tell me,” he adds, tightening his grip just a little, “what exactly were you hoping to steal?”