Snow ducks on instinct, the movement sharp and practised. Bones’ fist grazes his shoulder instead of his face. Honey shouts something – my name, I think – but it’s lost in the sudden chaos as bodies collide.
Ghost moves fast, grabbing Bones’ arm, trying to pull him back. “Stop?—”
It stops being a scuffle and turns into something uglier.
Bones drives Snow back into the wall by the hotel entrance, forearm across his chest, pinning him hard enough that the doorframe rattles. Snow’s elbow slams up into Bones’ ribs, sharp and desperate, and Bones grunts but doesn’t loosen his hold.
Nightshade appears out of nowhere. He’s there a second later, grabbing Snow by the collar and hauling him forward like he’s about to take his head off with his bare hands.
“Did you touch her?” Nightshade growls.
Snow’s eyes flick to me.
That hesitation costs him.
Nightshade doesn’t shout. He doesn’t threaten. He just hits.
The sound is ugly – fist to bone, breath knocked loose. Snow stumbles sideways, catching himself on the streetlight, eyes flashing up to Nightshade with pure, unfiltered fury.
Hatchet is already there, stepping between bodies, hands out, trying to break lines of attack without choosing sides.
“Enough,” Ghost snaps. “All of you?—”
Snow swings back, catching Nightshade across the jaw. Not clean. Desperate. Nightshade barely reacts, just snarls and goes for him again, grabbing his collar and slamming him back into the wall, Bones right beside him, the pair of them raining blows down on him relentlessly until I can’t breathe. All I can do is look on in horror, halting words trapped in my throat.
Bones lands a punch to his ribs. Snow grunts, folding slightly before shoving Bones away with a sharp elbow. Honey finally gets between them, arms spread wide, breath coming fast.
Snow spits blood onto the pavement. “Get off me.”
Honey tries to wedge himself between them and fails – gets shoved aside by sheer momentum. Ghost catches him before he hits the ground, but Ghost’s attention flicks back instantly, eyes narrowing, posture shifting. Hatchet is already moving, quick and controlled, trying to separate hands from throats without getting his own bones broken.
Nightshade’s fist cocks back again.
Snow’s gaze flashes to me again – quick, warning, pleading, infuriating.
And something in Nightshade’s face hardens as if that glance is proof of guilt.
He swings.
I hear the impact even over the traffic hum – dull and brutal. Snow’s head snaps sideways. His shoulder hits the wall. Bones hits him again, low, into the body, like he’s trying to fold him in half.
The sound that comes out of Snow isn’t a whimper.
It’s a laugh.
Short. Ragged. Insane.
“You don’t understand,” he coughs, and there’s blood on his teeth when he looks up. “You’re all already?—”
Nightshade grabs him again, slams him back, and this time it’s not about protection. It’s about punishment.
Hatchet catches Nightshade’s arm mid-movement. Nightshade rips free with a growl like an animal. Hatchet stumbles, then recovers, jaw clenched, eyes sharp – no fear, just calculation. He reaches for his pad and pen like he can write a line that will make them stop.
He can’t.
No one is reading anything right now.
Honey lunges again, gets an elbow to the shoulder for his trouble, swears loudly. “Oi! Stop! Stop?—”
