I stared back at him, motionless. “This is mine,” he said. “You don’t get to sleep here, see? It’s mine. What you doing here?” When I didn’t answer he took a step forward, his voice gaining a little confidence. “My mates are coming back. They’re going to be angry. This is mine, see? You shouldn’t be here.” His manner was halfway between pleading and threatening, and when I still didn’t answer it began to edge towards threatening. “You know who I am? I know people, I do. No one messes with me.” He took another step, moving to poke me with his foot. “You—”

I caught his ankle with my left hand as my right came out from under my cloak in a flash of steel. Before the man could react I had my knife pressed against his leg, the point digging through his trousers towards the upper thigh, where the femoral artery runs close to the skin. He tried to jerk away but I clung on and he nearly fell backwards. “Hey man!” he said, his voice squeaking suddenly. “Why—”

I hissed at him, showing my teeth, and his eyes went wide in fear. He tried to pull away, but I dug the knife in deeper and he froze. I held his eyes for a slow count of five then let him go suddenly. He scrambled back to the door. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, trying to hold up his dignity. “This is mine, see? You shouldn’t . . .”

I stared at the man without blinking and he trailed off, then backed away into the shadows. I lay still, following his movement through the futures as he clattered his way down the stairs. Once I was satisfied he was gone I got up.

I’d slept through the day, and yellow-gold light was shining through the newspaper covering the grimy windows. For some reason the afternoon felt shadowed and dark, even through the sunlight; I tried peeling back the newspaper to get a better idea of the time, but the light stung my eyes. I drew back into the shadows, waiting for darkness.