The subway station's isolated corner was a cold, little light from street lights and passing trains overhead casting shadows across the glinting train tracks below.
I sighed deeply, my breath clouding in the chilly air, my face settling into a bored, neutral despite. "This is gonna be a tiring night," I thought to myself under my breath, my eyes flicking over the scene—the bats, the girls, the men closing in.
*Crunch.* Michael, the cigarette guy, tossed his butt to the ground, grinding it under his boot with a slow, deliberate twist.
His lean frame straightened, his dark jacket rustling as he stepped toward me, his eyes narrowing.
"So, he's Ezra, huh?" he said, his voice low and sharp. He tilted his head, sizing me up, his cigarette-stained fingers flexing.
