The man launched at me a predator’s precision.
I barely sidestepped in time, his fist slicing past my jaw and slamming into the wall behind me. The plaster cracked like brittle glass. I struck back fast—an elbow to his ribs—but he barely flinched. He was trained. Not just some street thug. Every movement of his screamed discipline and cold execution.
He spun, catching my leg with a sweeping kick that knocked me back onto the dining table. Pain rippled up my spine as I crashed into it.
I rolled before his boot could connect with my head.
He came again, knife in hand this time.
I parried his strike with my forearm, twisting his wrist and forcing the blade loose. It clattered to the ground, and for a moment, we were two animals locked in a struggle.
He landed a punch to my side, another
