The three armed men fanned out in the street, circling Soufiane and his cousins like jackals. The leader twirled his crowbar lazily, his grin thin and sharp.
Nabil's voice was a low growl. "We don't have much. But if you want to try, come take it."
"Shut up," Anas hissed, shooting him a glare. "This isn't the time."
The men laughed, enjoying the fear they thought they saw. But Soufiane wasn't afraid—not exactly. His stomach was tight, his pulse fast, but his mind was sharper than it had ever been at the call center desk. He knew if they gave up everything now, they'd have nothing left for tomorrow.
The leader lunged forward. His crowbar swung in a wide arc toward Nabil's head.
Soufiane didn't think—he moved. He shoved Nabil aside and slashed with his fishing knife, the blade slicing across the attacker's arm. The man howled in pain, stumbling back.
Chaos exploded. Anas tackled another man to the ground, fists flying. Nabil, furious now, grabbed a loose brick from the ground and smashed it against the third man's jaw.
Zak froze, pressed against the wall, his body stiff with terror.
The fight was fast, brutal, and messy. When it was over, the men were gone—two limping away, one unconscious on the pavement. Blood stained the street, both theirs and the cousins'.
Soufiane wiped his knife clean on his sleeve. His hands were steady this time. Too steady.
Nabil spat on the ground. "That's what happens when people think they can take from us." His voice was proud, almost excited.
Anas shook his head. "We need to avoid fights like this. Every noise, every shout, it brings them closer." He gestured toward the shadows of the ruined city. Already, faint groans echoed in the distance.
Soufiane looked at Zak, still trembling. His cousin's eyes met his, wide and ashamed. Zak had done nothing. And Soufiane knew that in the days to come, that might be the difference between life and death.
For now, they were still alive. But the line between family and strangers was already blurring.