The alley reeked of mildew and rot, damp from the recent rain. Brandon pulled his hoodie tighter over his head, the brim of his cap shadowing his face as he walked briskly between the tall, graffiti-covered walls. A flickering streetlight buzzed overhead, casting a dull yellow light that pooled on the slick asphalt like molten gold.
At the far end, beneath a rusted fire escape, a man leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, cigarette glowing between his fingers as if waiting for something. Brandon recognized him instantly—the paparazzo. The man straightened as Brandon approached, a smirk curling beneath his unshaven face.
But Brandon didn't slow down. He closed the distance with quick strides, then surged forward, slamming the man back against the wall with a solid thud and held him in place.
"You son of a—!" Brandon snarled, fist clenching in the front of the man's jacket. "You hurt her! You and your damn cameras and your chaos—she got hurt and it was all because of you!"
