“This ain’t worth it,” he mutters. “Come on.”
They melt back into the crowd, not turning their backs until they’re fully clear.
Only when they’re gone do I exhale.
Vrok’s eyes are on me, unreadable. I can feel the weight of his gaze like a brand.
I don’t meet it. Not yet.
We walk in silence for another two corridors until the tension finally bleeds out of my spine.
Then he says, low and quiet, “That was either the boldest move I’ve seen in weeks…”
“…Or the dumbest,” I finish for him.
He grunts, which I think might be agreement.
“I had to try something,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond.
We keep moving.
But something’s changed.
Not in the way he walks, or how close he keeps me, but in the way his silence feels. It’s no longer measuring me. It’s watching me. Waiting.
I pretend I don’t notice.
I’m getting good at that.
CHAPTER 17
VROK
The gang’s footsteps echo away into the tangle of dock traffic — not like relief, but like a wave receding too fast, leaving a strange silence in its wake. I don’t even realize my jaw’s unclenching until it actuallydoes, slowly, like a trapdoor unlatching itself.
My boots aren’t touching anything solid for a moment before I realize I’m still standing. The crowd settles around us like dust in soft wind — murmurs rising, falling, colliding like they’re trying to make sense of what just happened.
I watch them leave.
Not because I feel victorious — I don’t — but because I’m stunned at how fast it resolved. One moment there’s steel and anger and voices rough with menace; the next it’s just empty space where threat used to live.
I’ve been in too many fights to ever be this naive, but I’ll give her this — Roxy’s move wasn’t just bold. It waseffective.
I close my eyes for one slow second and listen.
Word is already spreading.
“They say sheisthe Butcher.”
“You heard that right? The Butcher’s back?”
“She just stood there and told them off like she was born for it.”
The whispers curl around my spine and refuse to let go. There’s no exaggeration yet — not true mythmaking, just rumor bubbling up spontaneously — but it’s started. Like a small fire in dry grass.
I watch the faces in the crowd, heads turning toward us, curiosity peaking, fear flickering in eyes that don’t want to admit it.
