It is faint, broken, and full of trust.
That sound cuts through the red in my mind more sharply than any weapon could.
I step back from Neck Tattoo, who is coughing hard enough to live. I look at the one still under my boot. He is young. Too young. Old enough to hurt women in alleys, but young enough that terror turns him into a child.
“Run,” I say.
He blinks through tears.
“Take them and run.”
He scrambles when I lift my boot. The others drag themselves up in pieces. One cannot stand without help. One clutches his broken arm and wails. Neck Tattoo tries to glare at me, but his eyes slide toward Evie and then away.
I catch his collar before he passes.
He stops breathing.
“If you come near her again,” I say, low enough that only he hears, “I will not be this gentle.”
He believes me. That is wise.
They flee into the rain, limping, sobbing, abandoning weapons, pride, and whatever little kingdom they imagined theyowned. Their footsteps fade toward Mercy Street. The alley stinks of ozone, blood, pepper spray, wet trash, and fear.
I turn back to Evie.
My fury has nowhere to go now, so it becomes something worse.
She is hurt.
I kneel beside her, and the ground seems obscene beneath her. Pavement grit sticks to her palm. Rain beads on her lashes. Her sweater is torn at the shoulder. Blood mixes with water along her cheek, making thin pink trails toward the gutter. Her eyes are half-open, unfocused, and still trying to find me.
“Evie.”
Her mouth moves. No sound comes at first. Then she manages, “Hey.”
The word is ridiculous. It should not break me.
I reach toward her, then stop. My hands are too large. My claws are too sharp. I have just used these hands to break men into screaming pieces. I do not know how to touch her with them.
Her gaze drifts to my hovering hand. “You came.”
“Yes.”
“Good timing.”
“You should not speak.”
“Bossy,” she whispers.
“You are injured.”
“Not my favorite hobby.”
I make myself breathe slowly. “Can you move your fingers?”
She gives me a tiny, irritated look through the haze. “You want medical compliance or sarcasm?”
“Both, if you are able.”
