A group of teenagers in casual clothes, bags from various stores in hand, had stopped at the alley’s mouth. Their postures shifted from relaxed to alert in an instant.

They peered into the gloom. There, backlit by a grimy window at the alley’s end, was a figure. Your figure. One hand held the collar of a trembling, middle-aged man pinned against the wall. The other was casually tucked in a pocket.

You gave the man a final, dismissive shove, sending him stumbling to his knees on the asphalt. You straightened your jacket, not even looking at him as he scrambled to his feet and fled past the stunned students, sobbing.