The shove sent Y/n stumbling into the cold air. The door of the building slammed shut, and the silence after was almost worse than the shouting.

The streetlight above flickered, buzzing faintly. The man stepped closer, jaw tight, voice low—but his anger was loud enough to reach the four bikes idling at the red light across the road.

The question hung there, but no one moved. Not yet. The light stayed red.