The kid started and looked down at the blade—he’d obviously forgotten he was holding it—but didn’t lower the weapon. I sighed, suddenly running out of patience. Oh, screw this. I walked to one side. “Get out of here.”

The kid stared at me again. “Beat it,” I said, gesturing. I’d left the kid a clear path back where he came. “If your boss wants to spy on me, tell him to come do it himself.”

The kid looked from me to the empty darkness and began slowly moving away, trying to retreat and watch me at the same time. I took another look into the futures and saw how easy it would be to take him down. Lunge, grab, twist, and he’d be on the ground. The knife would be out of his hand and into mine, and then we could have a nice long chat about exactly who’d sent him here.

I didn’t do it. I would have, once. A spy usually just means someone’s being nosy, but it can also mean they’re thinking about making a move on you, which means that it’s fairly common for mages who realise they’re being spied on to shoot first and ask questions later. On top of that, the kind of people I used to hang out with tended to assume that not reacting to a potential threat with immediate violence was a sign of weakness. It might be nothing, but why take the chance?

But here’s the thing about living like a paranoid hermit: it sucks. It’s impossible to explain just how tired you can get of violence—that weary feeling where you see someone who’s looking for trouble and want to ask, Do we really have to do this? The more time I spent with Luna and Sonder and Variam and Anne, the more I realised that I liked not treating everyone I met as a potential threat. Going after the kid and interrogating him felt like stepping away from that, and I didn’t want to do it. So I stood and watched as he edged around me. Once he had a clear line of retreat he turned and ran into the darkness. The sound of racing footsteps faded and I was alone.

Now that I look back, I wonder what would have happened if I’d done things differently. If I’d spoken or acted another way, could I have avoided the whole ugly mess? Or would it just have made things worse? Maybe someone else could have managed it. I don’t know.

But at the time I had no idea what was coming. I just waited to make sure the kid was gone, then headed back down to my flat to tell Anne and the others the story.

* * *