"Get out of the way!" The thug's hand closed on my sleeve and he smiled like he'd already counted the coin he would get for me. He didn't get to finish counting. I stepped aside, planted my foot, and kicked him straight across the alley. He flew like a sack and hit the wet stone hard. Rain splashed off his jacket. He groaned and did not get up fast enough. "Who the hell—" another man started, and I cut him off. "You don't own this street," I said. He lunged. I blocked, twisted, and used his overreach to send him face-first into a tea vendor's cart. Cups crashed. Tea steamed and stained his cheek. He cursed, hands scrambling for purchase on slick wood. I grabbed his collar and threw him the rest of the way. "One-on-three?" he barked, pushing himself up. "You pick three. I pick my temper," I said. "She talks!" the smallest one sneered. He was the leader of the trio, pale and cruel, with a scar that split his eyebrow. He pulled a knife and shoved it under my chin as if that made him dangerous. "Knife's rusty," I told him. "You look like you steal your courage on credit." He didn't get the laugh. He got a slap. It was meant to be a warning. It landed across his face, hard enough to stifle the boast. He staggered, hand on cheek, fury boiling behind the hurt