The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I searched for the source of the voice.

Deep. Male.

I turned when footsteps resonated from behind me. Dressed in a suit, although cloaked to hide his face. To threaten a member of authority in something as constricting as a suit would require a tremendous amount of courage.

Experienced.

I grit my teeth, my pockets were empty, my knife in his hand.

“How did you…?” I began.

He chuckled teasingly, flicking his head back with as much theatrical flair as any performer.

“Now, now, mr weary.” He spoke, condescendingly, “Being stiff will make you step on my toes when the music begins to play and none of us want that.”

I stood my ground, aware of my foolishness not to take a spare weapon. I weighed my options.

A tare in the side of his jacket, drops of blood forming. A fresh wound. Most likely from the shards of glass now scattering the floor.

_He was rushing_, I realised, _when killing the young boy, he made a mistake. _

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What mistake? I wasn’t sure. But, with the information I had, I could at least have a chance at getting him into a weaker state.

The man before me clapped his hands twice, disrupting me from my thoughts. Music began to play.

Loud. Distracting.

It didn’t come from the array of instruments by me, but from all across the room. Pushing confusing away, I watched his steps carefully. But before I could register anything, he pounced at me, knife raised high. I blocked the blow by hitting his wrist with my forearm. It began to swing a punch toward his waist. He grabbed my fist tightly, squeezing it until my knuckles cracked unnaturally. Pain simmered through me, but I ignored it, trying to break free, my forearm still blocking the knife.

Luckily, his grip on my fist relaxed, relieving me from my pain. Though, instead of letting go, he gripped my index finger and spun my round in circles. Although my mind spun, I managed to take another lunge at him, only ending up falling face first onto the ground, blood beginning to leak from my nose, brows and fingers as glass cut through my skin.

He laughed, placing the heal of his shoe onto my back, pressing me against the glass. “Honestly, who taught you to dance? It’s even painful to watch.”

I tried to rise, but he was strong, stronger than me. My vision blackened when his foot swung toward my temple.

The last sounds were the keys of the piano, tenderly playing a tune through the silence.

_(You can probably tell I’m rubbish at righting fight scenes, but I wrote it anyway! Practice makes it better, I wouldn’t say perfect, but better.)_