Pulling his arm back he laid his hand at his hip, tapping his fingers against the hilt of the dagger concealed under his coat and shirt. No one had seen him take it that night, too busy restraining the man who had used it. He’d pulled it from the body, mesmerized by the way the blood clung to its blade. He’d only been a kid. Inconsequential. Invisible. And in that moment he’d felt the first threads of his youth pull thin, fraying. The first steps to becoming the man others avoided in the street.
