Sunset dropped thin bands of orange light across the cobblestones.

The plaza was winding down; the rasp of scrubbing iron plates and the murmur of voices lingered, warm and heavy.

The wind was weak, carrying the scent of charred fish and the wet salt of the sea.

Pain waved at a shadow approaching from the far end.

"Hannes!"

Hannes raised a thick arm in return.

Fatigue clung to his shoulders, but his face held the slackness of relief.

"Hey. ...Did you find the cat?"

"Found him. Sent him home, safe and sound."

Salt gave a small nod.

The three turned to leave the square.

Then, metal shrieked against stone on the far side.

A roar. A rasping laugh.

"Move! You're in the way!"

Three young men stumbled out from behind the stalls.

Crude tattoos peeked from their shoulders and arms.

Their voices carried no scent of liquor, but something else—an acrid reek, like burnt herbs.

An old man was shoved aside.

The air in the plaza tightened.

"Bad atmosphere,"

Hannes murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

Pain narrowed his eyes.

"Something’s wrong. Look at them."

Their eyes refused to focus. Their laughter lacked shape.

When the shopkeeper shouted, their reactions lagged by seconds, thoughts seemingly sliding off a greased surface.

"Their talking is weird,"

Pain whispered.

"It’s not connecting."

Words unraveled before they could form meaning.

They repeated phrases, or let sentences dissolve halfway through.

It wasn't drunkenness. It was a glitch in their awareness.

One of the men kicked a crate.

Fruit tumbled across the stones, grazing Salt’s boots.

The smile vanished from Pain’s face.

"Danger. Let’s go."

A thug lunged for the shopkeeper, arm outstretched.

A brown paper bag slammed into the limb from the side.

Smack. The arm was batted down.

"Not good. Not good at all."

It was Jack.

In the corner of his vision, he had seen the rough hand reaching for the merchant.

By the time the image registered, his body had already moved.

The paper handles bit into his fingers as he swung the grocery bag like a mace.

The sensation of bone shuddering against his palm traveled up his arm.

The thug gave a short groan and staggered.

"Seriously..."

Jack didn't stop moving.

"Does this city mix side-quests into a simple grocery run?"

The man’s unfocused eyes swam toward him.

Only the heat of violence arrived; the intent lagged behind.

A fist swung up.

Aimless. Sloppy. But sloppy could still break a nose.

Jack tightened his grip on the bag, using the momentum to swing it back, then tossed it behind him.

"Hold this."

He saw Salt catch it and stumble—dangerous.

But he felt Pain’s presence steadying the boy. Good.

The fist came down. Jack dropped his knees.

Air hissed past his ear.

The thug’s chest was wide open.

Jack drove his weight forward, burying his shoulder into the man’s sternum.

Thud.

The impact was dull, heavy. The man’s center of gravity collapsed.

Sunset shadows scattered across the stone as the thug fell back.

A lighter shadow slipped into the gap—Pain.

The boy’s footsteps synced with the thug’s heavy stagger, and in the next second, Pain had the man’s arm locked at a precise, non-lethal angle.

But the friction wasn't over.

The last thug swayed toward Salt.

His mouth twisted, ready to spit something foul.

Jack’s breath hitched.

Too far.

Then, the man froze.

Salt was looking up at him.

Jack didn't understand the quiet weight of that gaze, but it created a pause.

A single beat of hesitation.

Jack filled it.

He cut in from the side, seizing the man’s wrist.

He redirected the momentum, flowing past the thug, and drove a shoulder into the back of the knee.

The man crumpled to the stones.

Jack applied pressure with his elbow—just enough to pin him.

Only when the resistance faded did Jack let his breath rasp out.

"Everyone alright?"

Jack asked, keeping his eyes on the man beneath him.

"I-I'm fine... Thank you..."

The shopkeeper pressed a hand to his chest, voice trembling.

Jack acknowledged him with a sharp jerk of his chin.

The plaza began to thaw.

The suffocating heat of violence lifted, replaced by the murmurs of returning safety.

But the scar remained—crushed fruit bleeding sweet juice onto the stones, a toppled crate, a stall cloth flapping loosely in the wind.

Boots clattered.

The City Watch.

"What’s this commotion?"

The captain’s voice was low.

"T-They just went crazy..."

The shopkeeper stammered.

The guards checked the groaning men.

Delayed responses. Dilated pupils. Broken speech.

The captain frowned.

"I see."

He looked up, eyeing the trio holding the thugs down.

"And you are?"

Jack shrugged, the motion stiff.

"Just upstanding citizens."

Hannes crossed his arms, looking sour.

"We cleaned up the mess. We’re just passing through."

The captain studied their faces, then the strange state of the attackers.

He exhaled.

"I need statements. Can you come to the station?"

Pain groaned.

"Ehh? The station? I really don't want to."

"Pass,"

Hannes grumbled.

"I hate paperwork."

Jack raised a hand, stopping them. He turned to the captain.

"I’ll go. These two are irrelevant."

He clicked his tongue, looking down at the grocery bag Salt was holding.

"We were in the middle of shopping."

Pain’s hand shot up, bright and cheery.

"Then we'll finish the list!"

Hannes nodded.

"We’ll hit the stalls before they close. You handle the talking."

Salt looked at Jack once, then gave a quiet nod.

Jack turned to follow the guards.

Behind him, the plaza settled back into its evening rhythm, though the shadows felt longer than before.

The sweet, rotting scent of crushed fruit drifted over the stones.

A child peeked out from behind a pillar.

The shopkeeper sighed, gathering his scattered wares.

Jack walked toward the station.

The others turned toward the market.

The light thinned, and three shadows stretched out across the road.