I heard the familiar jingle of keys at the door just as I finished pouring Pheno's food into his bowl.
The door creaked open, and in walked Dad — suitcase in one hand, coat slung over his shoulder, tie loosened, eyes looking like someone had replaced his soul with decaf. He hadn't changed much. Just more stubble and the same smile that screamed, *"Please let me sit down before you dump problems on me."*
He looked up. "Hey, kiddo."
"Hey," I replied, turning slightly so he wouldn't get a clear look at my face.
Didn't work.
His eyes zeroed in like a heat-seeking dad missile. "You alright? You're walking funny."
"Yeah," I shrugged. "Slipped down the stairs. Just a bruise."
"Daniel…"
"Seriously, I'm fine."
His gaze lingered on the faint cut above my eyebrow. I had tried to hide it under my hair, but apparently that wasn't enough.
Before he could push it further, a gray blur shot across the floor like a deranged tennis ball.
Pheno.
The little menace launched himself at Dad's suitcase, missed, did a somersault, then scrambled upright and started chewing on the handle like it owed him money.
"…What the hell was that?" Dad blinked.
I scooped Pheno up. He vibrated in my arms, already plotting his next stunt. "That's Pheno. He's our new overlord."
"We have a cat now?"
"Kind of. I found him in a box near the pharmacy. He found me edible."
Pheno escaped my arms with an angry meow and immediately knocked over a stack of mail on the table before dashing into the bathroom.
Dad let out a low whistle. "Well, at least he's low maintenance."
"He bit the toaster."
"...Okay."
Lyra poked her head out of her room just then. "Hey, Dad."
He smiled. "Hey, sweetheart."
She returned a quiet smile and slipped back into her room. No drama. Just her.
I watched Dad stretch, his spine cracking like dry branches. "You've got the day off, right?"
"National holiday. Thought I'd go out, maybe grab something to eat."
He nodded. "Good. Get some fresh air. But seriously—don't fall down any more stairs."
"I'll try to fight gravity today."
—
The air outside was lazy. Sunlight filtered through the tree branches like it couldn't commit to shining properly. It was the kind of day where everything felt like it was waiting for something to happen.
I took a slow stroll, iced coffee in hand, pretending I was the kind of person who had relaxing walks instead of sudden knife flashbacks.
The café I liked wasn't far. Just a few blocks down.
That was the plan.
Until I passed the alley.
It was narrow. Cracked pavement. Trash bins lined up like props in a cheap movie set. Nothing special—except for the angry voices echoing from within.
I slowed.
Three men. Two standing. One kneeling.
The guy on the ground looked around thirty. Clean shirt. Leather bag. He wasn't drunk or angry. Just scared. Like cornered prey.
One of the guys standing over him had a knife.
I stopped.
Okay. This wasn't a prank. Not a fight. It was a robbery.
And I had just wandered into it like a side character trying to get screen time.
My first thought was *walk away*. My second thought was *run faster*. My third thought was *how strong is this iced coffee cup and can it be weaponized*?
But then I saw the look on the man's face.
That helpless, frozen stare. Like he was hoping someone—*anyone*—would stop the world and pull him out.
I knew that look.
And suddenly, walking away didn't feel like an option.
So I did the dumbest thing imaginable.
I stepped in.
"Hey!"
Two heads turned. The guy with the knife actually flinched a little. That was comforting.
"What do you want, punk?" the other one asked, tone filled with *you picked the wrong alley today, sir*.
I held my coffee like it was a grenade. "That's my uncle."
All three of them stared at me.
The older guy blinked, like *What?* But to his credit, he kept quiet.
"He's late for lunch," I added. "Mom's furious."
More staring.
"You're joking, right?" Knife Guy stepped forward.
Oh good. He's the unstable one.
"Look," I said quickly. "This whole alley's got cameras. You really wanna stab someone in full HD?"
Probably another lie. I wasn't sure the alley had electricity, let alone surveillance.
But it gave them pause.
I caught the older man's eyes and jerked my head toward the split in the alley — a narrow four-way junction behind them. A perfect escape path.
"Go," I whispered. "Take a left. Then run."
"What about you?" he whispered back.
"I have a plan," I lied. Again.
He didn't need convincing. He took off fast, disappearing into the back path.
One of the thugs spun to chase. I threw my coffee.
Yes. I wasted my iced coffee.
It smacked him right in the face.
"AH—what the hell!?"
It bought me three seconds.
I ran.
Took the opposite split and sprinted blindly.
Trash cans, broken tiles, and puddles tried to kill me with every step. I slipped twice, elbowed a metal pipe, and nearly faceplanted into a mattress that should've been buried five years ago.
They were behind me. I could hear the footsteps.
"C'mon, legs! Don't fail me now!"
The alley narrowed. Dead end.
Nope. Not dying in a garbage corner.
I jumped, scrambled up a half-broken ladder, grabbed a loose pipe on the wall for balance—
And it snapped.
Gravity did the rest.
I landed hard. "Ow—my dignity!"
Footsteps got louder.
I rolled behind a dumpster, held my breath.
They passed me.
Idiots.
I waited another few seconds, heart hammering like a jackhammer. Then I bolted the other direction—back toward the street.
Almost made it.
Until I heard him.
"Gotcha."
I spun—and there he was.
Knife Guy.
He wasn't smiling.
He lunged.
I did the one thing that made sense.
I screamed and threw a trash lid at him.
It bounced off his shoulder.
He raised the knife—
Then stopped.
Dead in his tracks.
He looked past me.
His eyes went wide.
And then, just like that—he ran.
Full sprint. Gone.
I blinked.
What the hell?
I turned.
There, at the end of the alley, was a man.
Tall. Pale. White hair, like snow that had opinions. Black clothes. Hands in his coat pockets. Just… standing there.
He didn't speak. Didn't blink.
Didn't need to.
The guy gave off *serial killer but elegant* energy.
Or like he could kill you with his voice alone.
And apparently, Knife Guy felt it too.
I opened my mouth to say something—
But he was gone.
Just turned and vanished around the corner like fog.
I stood there, surrounded by trash, adrenaline, and questions.
"…What just happened?"
No answer.
Figures.
---
When I got back home, Pheno had somehow gotten his head stuck inside an empty cereal box and was panicking like it was the apocalypse.
Dad looked up from the couch, unfazed. "You were gone long."
"Got chased by robbers, threw a coffee, and met a possible vampire."
"Sounds like a productive afternoon."
I pulled the cereal box off Pheno's head. He meowed like it was *my* fault and stomped into the kitchen.
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. You okay?"
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Just… weird day."
He didn't push further.
That was the nice thing about Dad. He knew when to let the silence do its job.
I flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Pheno climbed up my chest and sat on it like I was furniture.
I thought about the man in the alley.
About how he didn't say a word.
How he made a guy with a knife run like a kid caught stealing candy.
I should be scared.
But part of me was… curious.
Who was he?
And more importantly...
Why did he look at me like he *knew* something?