The slender space between day and night had always been his favorite. Use it properly and that break between the fading of the light and the dark ascent provided everything. At dusk, it was so damn easy to ignore the flicker in the corner of an eye, call it the wind, a trick of the light, call it anything they wanted if it gave him chance to sharpen his advantage. Tonight, the fading sky was as seductive as it ever had been. The scent of the sea humming in the pink-streaked air with the heat of the city left behind him, the siren-call followed through the side-streets and the alleys all the way to the water. It had been a long time and it smelled like home. Like engine oil, warping wood and flame. Noise spilled from open doors that lined the trash-strewn street and there was movement, sure, but it didn’t trouble him. Where he was no one would be watching and all would look the other way. And there was time yet. The grunt of youthful dispute sounding further down the track as he smoked, thud, gasp and crack into his blood. Administration. Gently, he exhaled. Eyes flitting between them and the stump of cigarette before extinguishing its flame. Soon enough they were sated, copper scented, sweat soaked and stained. Reconciled they were moving as a pack and every metal grate bolted shut in their wake.
This would do.
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