6
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The rain eased as night thickened, one shroud exchanged for another.
There were more signs of life—normal life—as Rodin headed west, veering to the south when he could. Lights appeared in windows, and faces peered out of alleys. Rodin kept to the middle of streets, let his hands hover over his hips but drew no weapons. Not a threat, but ready to protect himself.
His surroundings became familiar—locations from old contracts, places he’d stayed, bars and cafes he’d used. People around here weren’t friendly, but treat them right and they were okay. Wouldn’t always stab you in the back, might even help you if there was something in it for them. Normal people, doing whatever it took to survive.
Of course, there were always those who took things too far. And with experience it
