Kyan stepped into the so-called restroom and scrunched his nose. The stench hit him like a slap. Rusty bucket. Damp floor. Mold climbing the cracked wall.
"Disgusting," he muttered.
But he didn't waste time.
He slipped two small blades from the inside of his pocket—thin enough to dodge a frisk, sharp enough to do damage.
With a quiet grin, he got to work, sawing at the rope around his wrists. It didn't take long.
Snap.
He rubbed his wrists, rolled his shoulders, then fixed his face before stepping out—cool smile, hands behind his back like nothing happened.
The woman was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting.
"Done already?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Couldn't do anything in there," Kyan said casually, walking up to her. "Too smelly."
She opened her mouth to retort—
But he was faster.
In one swift motion, he spun her around, caught her arm, and pulled her close. One blade slid out like second nature, cold metal pressing against the side of her neck.
