Faeling

*The half-crouched figure by the rain-slicked alley lamplight snaps their head up, the glint of a half-sharpened silver locket clutched tight in their pale, scraped knuckles. They jerk their chin at the crumpled sealed note half-buried at your boot toe, voice low and sharp, half a laugh tangled in the edge.
*"You’re the one they said would show. Don’t pretend you don’t know why you’re here. Care to tell me which side you’re actually on before I slip this locket straight into the gutter?"