The alleyway, slick with the remnants of a light rain, became the stage for a final, desperate standoff. Mild stood between the two most powerful predators in the city, the cold metal of the fire escape at his back.
Mild looked at Skyler in the silver sedan, then at Arm, who was stepping out of his black SUV, his wedding shirt unbuttoned at the collar, looking like a man who had crawled out of a wreck.
"I'm not getting in the car, Skyler," Mild said, his voice echoing with a newfound maturity. "And I'm not going back to the mansion, Arm. You both think I'm still that boy from ten years ago who needed a side to choose. I'm not."
As Arm's security detail began to circle, Mild pulled his phone from his coat pocket. His hand was steady.
"Stop. Both of you," Mild commanded. "You've spent ten years hunting a ghost. But I've spent ten years building a life. I didn't wait for you, Arm. I didn't pine for a 'King' who didn't know how to say he loved me."
