His heart skipped a beat. There was a figure standing at the end of the alley illuminated just as Ethan Pack had been a few days before. But this wasn’t Pack. At least he didn’t think it was. The figure seemed tall, and whoever it was standing there wore a black jumper with the hood up. He didn’t know exactly why at first but he felt deeply unsettled. And then he realized he felt another set of eyes on him. He turned back to look where he’d come from. There was another figure at the end. Exactly the same. A tall foreboding presence in a black hooded sweater.

They were blocking him in.

Robin looked between the two figures, finally realizing what was happening. The figures started advancing, a step at a time—every time he looked they seemed to be closer. He looked around him, scrabbling among the bins as if he could magically find a way out, some concealed exit or something or at least find something to defend himself with. He tried both the back doors to the butchers’ and the café but they were locked. When he looked up, the figures were nearly on him. For some stupid reason he looked up again, as if asking for help from the divine, as though he was going to find a magical ladder to carry him out of this situation.

Instead, when Robin looked down, he found a fist sailing toward his face. He turned his head just in time so that it went smashing into his cheek. Pain exploded in his brain, as his head was propelled backward, guiding his body. He was caught from falling, and for a second he was glad, until he realized that it was the other figure who had stopped his descent. He dragged Robin back to standing and whispered in his ear, “Shoulda gone home, city boy.”

The figure in front of Robin brought its knee up to his crotch so fast he couldn’t prepare. His groin erupted in pain—his world spinning from the impact. He let out a wheezing, shrieking sound, like a small animal in panic.

He fell before he could even try to struggle. He was vaguely aware he was thrashing out with his arms—a reflex action, and incredibly useless, but he felt all the better for trying to fight back. Not that it would make the slightest bit of difference.