Chapter 42: Meddling
The moment the word left my mouth, a cold wave of regret washed over me. Idiot! What have you done? This had nothing to do with me. I should have just walked away, melted back into the shadows. Why did I have to wade into this mess?
“Eh?” The men turned, their angry, flushed faces a mixture of surprise and dismissal. One, who seemed to have a sliver of reason left, waved a dismissive hand, as if shooing away a stray cat. “Away with you, girl. This is no concern of yours.”
“A pack of grown men getting their pockets picked, and instead of finding the thief, you hound a girl behind a counter?” I said, my voice trembling but firm, my chin held high. I was committed now; there was no turning back. “She’s been sitting right here the whole time. How could she possibly know who stole your money?”
Honestly, it was suicide. I was a scrawny child. Any one of these brutes could have swatted me aside like a fly. But I couldn't just stand by and watch. And my motivation wasn't some noble, heroic sense of justice. The simple, selfish truth was that I liked this place. This clean, warm bathhouse was a sanctuary, a glimpse of a better life, and I couldn't bear to see them ruin it. Maybe they would demand compensation, maybe they would smash the place up in their anger, or maybe they would just spread the word that this bathhouse was a den of thieves. Any of those things could be enough to shutter its doors for good. I knew the bathhouse was innocent. But these men, they were victims too, in their own way. And they were transferring their helpless, sputtering rage onto the only target they could find.
I couldn’t let them do it. And yet… the irony was sickening. The reason they had been robbed was very likely because I had dragged Jared here in the first place, bringing the wolf into the sheepfold. In that moment, I felt like a thief, crying "stop thief."
“Heh. And how would you know what she knows?” a man with a scarred lip sneered, his eyes narrowing. “Unless you’re the thief yourself?” His words, meant as a casual taunt, landed with the force of a physical blow. I couldn’t admit it, of course.
“I was on the women’s side,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. For the first time, I was actively, consciously using my new body, my gender, as a shield. It was a shameful, cowardly, but necessary feeling. "A little girl can't exactly walk into the men's changing room, can she?"
The men paused, a flicker of uncertainty on their faces. I had a point. “Then what business is it of yours?!” another man demanded, his voice a low growl.
“I just don’t like watching a pack of grown men bully a girl,” I said, my voice rising, my fear giving way to a reckless anger. “Instead of catching a real thief, you try to rob a counter. What’s the difference between you and the man who picked your pockets?” My words hit their mark. Their faces flushed with a mixture of shame and fury at being called out so publicly by a child. The first man, the one with the temper, his patience finally snapping, lunged forward, his hand raised to strike me.
I shut my eyes, bracing for the blow. I deserved it. This was my fault. But the slap never came. I opened my eyes, confused. A hand, seemingly appearing from nowhere, had shot out and caught the man's wrist. It was attached to a man in a worn, brown trench coat who hadn't been there a second ago. He had simply… appeared. The brute stared, first at his trapped arm, then at the stranger. He hadn't seen him approach. He struggled, trying to wrench his arm free, but the stranger's hand was like an iron clamp, holding him fast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the brute growled, a note of fear now creeping into his voice, his bravado crumbling. The man in the trench coat suddenly released him, and the brute stumbled back, off-balance.
“The little lady is right,” the stranger said, his voice surprisingly calm and level, a stark contrast to his rough, stubble-covered face. “We should be focused on the real thief. What kind of man strikes a child?” The crowd, which had been a menacing, snarling mob ready to tear apart a helpless girl just moments before, was now silent, cowed by this newcomer. Their attitude had changed completely.
“And how do you propose we find him?” one of the men asked, his tone now respectful, almost pleading, directed at the man in the trench coat.
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