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The man groaned in pain, blood trickling down the side of his forehead. His breaths were short, ragged, his chest heaving from the impact. He glared up at her with hate in his eyes.

“It’s none of your damn business!” he spat. “Let me go! I didn’t do anything wrong—it was an accident!”

“Was it Esther?” Krystal asked, voice low and deadly.

That struck a nerve.

The man thrashed harder under Darren’s hold, growling like a wild animal. “It’s none of your damn business!”

Then, like lightning, he wrenched one arm free, grabbed a loose rock from the ground, and smashed it against Darren’s head.

“Ah—!” Darren staggered, wincing as pain exploded through his skull.

The grip loosened.

The attacker shoved Darren off and lunged straight at Krystal.

From a sheath on his belt, he drew a small blade, gleaming cold and sharp in the dim streetlight. His face twisted into a snarl. “You should’ve stayed quiet!”

Krystal stumbled backward, heart in her throat, breath stolen.

But before he could reach her, a figure stepped between them.

Lorenzo.

He stepped between her and the blade, shielding her with his entire body. The knife slashed across his palm with a sickening sound, crimson spilling instantly from the cut.

The man froze.

He stared at Lorenzo—recognition dawning. He glanced past him at Krystal, eyes wide with sudden fear. He turned, ready to bolt.

But Darren, blood trickling down his temple, was already back on his feet—blocking his escape like a wall of steel.

Sirens howled in the distance, growing louder.

Within moments, red and blue lights painted the night. Police cruisers screeched to a halt, and officers poured out, weapons drawn. They swarmed the attacker, dragging him to the ground and forcing handcuffs around his wrists with brutal efficiency.

Krystal stood frozen, her knees weak. Lorenzo turned around, blood dripping from his hand, and rushed to her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes darting over her face, her arms, her shoulders with worry. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“What were you thinking, blocking a knife?!” she snapped at him, grabbing his injured hand and inspecting the cut. She grabbed his hand carefully, inspecting the cut. “As if treating your tremor wasn’t hard enough! Now this? What if it comes back?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she froze.

Lorenzo’s eyes locked onto hers.

He stepped closer, gripping her shoulders. “What did you just say?” he demanded, voice deep and tense.

Before she could answer, a police officer approached, holding up a small black purse. “Do either of you know this man?” he asked. “We found an ID on him. Name’s Jim McAlister.”

Krystal shook her head. “I don’t know him.”

Lorenzo gave the same answer.

“We’ll run a full check,” the officer said. “One of you needs to come in to give an official statement.”

“I’ll go,” Darren stepped forward, wiping the blood from his forehead. “I saw everything.”