“STOP” i yell as i reach out to him as he turns around i flinch but hold my ground in the distant i hear sirens and as i look behind me i see the worker from earlier and other employees watching us from behind the glass as i hear a sound i hear the shuffling of the man as he gets up and drops the man he was choking as he positions one knee forward he grabs my hand and stands up while his eyes not leaving me


“STOP,” I yell, grabbing his shoulder. He turns; I flinch but hold my ground. In the distance sirens wail. Through the glass I see the worker from earlier and other employees watching us. The man i had grabbed shuffles and lets go of the person he was holding. As he stands i let my hand fall off him but before it can leave him he grabs me while standing but staying within eye reach of me says “Are you okay?” feel exhausted i just nod and he smiles at me with his eyes and mine both looking toward the blaring sirens not far in the distance i look behind me and see the worker at the exit with other onlookers it seems they called the cops

He plants a knee forward, grabs my hand, and hauls himself up — his eyes never leaving mine.


“STOP,” I yell, grabbing his shoulder. He turns; I flinch but hold my ground. In the distance, sirens wail. Through the glass I see the worker from earlier and other employees watching.

The man I’d grabbed shuffles, releasing the person he was holding. As he rises, I let my hand slip away—until he catches it. Standing, his eyes locked on mine, he asks, “Are you okay?”

Exhaustion floods me, and I can only nod. He offers a faint smile. As I lower my gaze, he leans down to meet it—his hand still clasped tightly around mine, though I barely notice. Together we turn toward the blaring sirens closing in. When I glance back, I see the worker at the exit with the other onlookers. It seems they’re the ones who called the cops.
The rain consumes us. I feel his hand slip away as my eyes shift to him—he’s pulling off his hoodie. Without a word, he drapes it over my head.

“You shouldn’t. I’ll be okay,” I try to protest.

“No. I don’t mind the rain—and you’ll get sick,” he replies, gently tugging the hoodie into place. He steps closer. “Sorry,” he whispers as he pulls the hood up and tucks my hair inside.

“Why?” I blurt, glancing from the store back to him.

He exhales, almost a laugh. “I don’t know. Honestly, I wasn’t going to help at first—funny enough.” He steps back from me.

Glancing at the men sprawled on the floor, he walks over as the cop cars pull into the parking lot. His head turns toward them, then back to me—hesitation flickers across his face. As if deciding something important, he raises his voice over the rain and sirens.

“I’m Victor, by the way. Victor Yang.”

The downpour drenches his shirt, plastering it to his frame, every line of muscle defined. His long hair, once slicked back, now clings to his face—strands falling across his forehead, nearly covering his eyes.

“I’m Claire—ACHOO!” I sneeze just as a car door slams shut.

“Are you okay? We got a report of—” one of the cops shouts, his voice cutting through the storm. He stops short when his eyes land on the two bodies sprawled on the ground. Glancing back at us, he shoots his partner a look. The partner nods, then grabs his radio. Moments later, an ambulance pulls up, lights flashing against the rain.

As the cop steps forward to question me, Victor moves beside me. The officer pauses when their eyes lock.

“Sir?” the cop says.

I shoot Victor a dumbfounded glance, and when he catches me in the corner of his eye, the only thing he does is grin.

“Yo. How you doing, man?” he says.

As they talk, I don’t have to say much—Victor handles everything. But then I notice the wound on his back, still bleeding.

“You should get that checked out, Victor—they slashed you across the back.”

He turns to face me, and it’s as if something clicks in his head. The cop, who I now know is named Fred, says, “We should get that looked at,” signaling an EMS worker over. They inspect the cut and direct Victor toward their cruiser.

I exchange a look with the cop.
“You’re a lucky lady to have had this guy come. He’s a great detective… and, for fuck’s sake, can he fight.”

As he shakes his head, I can only say, “…Yeah, he can.”

The questioning wraps up, and Victor walks back over to me.

“Well, I got everything I need. I just need to question the workers, and we’ll be in contact with you,” Fred says, nodding at Victor.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at work,” Victor replies, waving goodbye.

As the officers back off, Victor mutters, “Fuck… I should’ve asked him for a ride,” casting me a wet-dog look.

“I could give you a ride home,” I offer.

His face brightens instantly. I can’t help but shake my head at him.