The word landed heavier than the knife.
Fritz froze, not because his body failed him, but because it obeyed him too well. Every instinct screamed to move, to close the distance before the blade settled.
The thief stood with his back to the alley wall, one arm locked around the bystander's chest. The knife rested just beneath the jaw, close enough that Fritz could see the faint indentation where steel pressed against skin.
Too close.
The bystander's hands were raised halfway, fingers curled as if unsure whether to grab the arm around him or keep still.
His breathing was fast but not panicked.
Fritz ignored it. In any case, bystanders must not be involved.
His focus narrowed to the blade.
"You don't want to do this," Fritz said, voice low. He took a slow step forward, careful to keep his weight centered.
"Let him go. We can talk."
The knife shifted a fraction closer.
"That's far enough."
The thief's tone was calm. He didn't seem triumphant, just…an eerie certainty.
