The alley reeked of copper and damp stone. Three men had Kiroi cornered against a rotting wooden fence, boots kicking into his ribs like he was something stuck to the bottom of their shoes. One held a length of chain. Another had a knife, short and serrated, dragging it lazily across Kiroi's neck.

Kiroi's face was already a mess. Split lip, swelling eye, blood crusted under his nose. He didn't fight back. Didn't raise his hands, didn't curl into a ball. Just stood there and took it with the dead-eyed patience of someone who'd been doing this his whole life. The red diamond on his forehead caught the dim light filtering through the alley's mouth.