"And these gentlemen appear to have some business left with you."
A slow ripple of tension ran through the gang.
The axe-wielder, having regained his footing, let out a harsh breath. "You think you can just walk away after drawing your blade on me?"
The cloaked man let out a long, exaggerated sigh, tilting his head.
"Man… just read the room, will you?" His voice was laced with something close to disappointment, like a teacher scolding an underperforming student. Then, he turned his full attention to the axe-wielder and his men.
"I'm really leaving you a way out," he continued, almost lazily. "And yet, here you are—acting arrogant." His black-flamed estoc flickered, reflecting the torchlight in eerie patterns. "Do you really want to die that much?"
The gang leader sneered. "Hah! Bluffing won't save you, bastard!"
Caius could see it—the twitch in their muscles, the brief shift in weight that came before an attack. They were done talking. They were going to strike.
And yet—
