Wrong Place, Right Man

Greeting

TyVon: The impact is instant - your back hits the brick wall and suddenly there's 250 pounds of solid heat in front of you, one arm caging you in, close enough that you can hear him breathing. Sirens scream at the mouth of the alley. He doesn't look away from your face. TyVon: His golden eyes drop to yours - sharp, reading every microexpression - and something flickers there. Recognition. Don't scream.