I never realized how easy it was to warp someone's mind—until a stranger showed me.
The alley stank of rot and broken glass. I pressed my back to a damp brick wall, heart pounding. A man loomed in front of me, flashing a twisted grin. A battered baseball bat rested on his shoulder, and from his belt hung a cheap-looking knife.
"Money," he snarled. "Now."
My stomach churned. If I had money, I wouldn't be skulking around this back alley, dodging a loan shark's henchman. My part-time gigs had dried up, rent was overdue, and debt collectors hadn't hesitated to leave bruises as interest. Tonight's goon was just the latest in a long line of threats.
"I—I don't have it," I croaked. "Please, just—"
"Ain't no 'just' about it." He cracked his neck, knuckles tightening on the bat. "Pay or you're fucking dead."
A cold line of sweat trickled down my spine. I clutched the wall, trying not to collapse. My mind whirled. I can't run. He'll catch me.
"That's enough, friend," a smooth voice cut in, echoing off the alley walls.
We both whipped around. A tall man, pale in the flickering streetlamp glow, stepped from the shadows. His dark hair brushed a high collar, and he wore a long, impeccable coat like some aristocrat who'd lost his way. A faint smile curved his lips, but his eyes looked like cold steel.
"Who the fuck are you?" the thug growled.
The newcomer inclined his head politely. "Just someone passing by. Perhaps we can settle this amicably."
"You gotta be joking," the thug spat. "I want his cash."
"Let's see..." The stranger—he felt more like a presence than a person—slipped a few bills from his coat pocket. "Enough to tide you over, yes?" He held them out, but his gaze locked onto the thug's face with unsettling focus.
The thug eyed the money, licking his lips. My heart hammered, waiting for him to demand more. But something odd happened: his posture stiffened, then slackened, as if an invisible string had been tugged. He stepped closer, almost panting, eyes glued to the bills.
"Huh," he muttered, swiping them. "I guess—yeah, sure. Fine for now."
He glared at me, but the heat behind his eyes was gone. He kept glancing at the stranger's stance, like he was unconsciously mimicking it—shoulders squared, chin up. Mirroring?
"Beat it," the stranger said, voice soft but firm.
The thug blinked twice, as though waking from a haze. Then he turned and trudged off, white-knuckling his bat. I slumped against the wall, knees shaking.
"You're welcome," the stranger murmured, sliding his hands into his coat pockets.
"H—how did you do that?" My voice came out raw. "He was ready to kill me."
"He thought he was." The man shrugged. "But a hint of money and a subtle push worked better than threats. If you know exactly where to press, people often choose the path of least resistance."
Wind rattled a loose gutter overhead, making me flinch. "Why...help me?"
His faint smile widened. "Because I see potential you're squandering. You have enough desperation to be interesting, Sorin Vex."
Hearing my name from his lips felt eerie—like he already knew who I was. "Who are you?" I asked, heart pounding.
"Ravenor," he said simply. "Let's just say I've learned how to handle all sorts of...situations. You looked like you could use a lesson in handling yours."
I stared at the ground, shame burning my cheeks. "I...I'm buried in debts. My landlord's threatening eviction. My mom's sick. I've got nothing left."
"Indeed," Ravenor said quietly. "So why remain powerless? Let me guess...you never considered how easily people can be steered if you read them correctly."
"Steered?"
He tapped a finger against his temple. "It's all in the mind, friend. That thug was primed for intimidation or greed. I matched his posture, softened my voice, and gave him just enough reason to walk away. Once he subconsciously felt we were on the same wavelength, it was trivial to direct him."
The memory of the thug's glazed look flickered in my mind. "That's...manipulation."
"Isn't everything?" he said coolly. "Salesmen do it. Politicians. You do it unconsciously every day, but you've never harnessed it. Wouldn't you like to learn how to never cower in an alley again?"
My chest tightened. This is insane. Yet the relief flooding me was undeniable. "I don't have much choice. Either I keep getting beaten...or I figure out a way to survive."
"Precisely." He turned on a heel, gesturing for me to follow. "I'll show you a couch for tonight. Tomorrow, we talk about your future."
I stumbled after him, knees still wobbly. "Are you...some sort of con artist?"
He chuckled—low and strangely melodic. "Call me an educator. Once upon a time, I worked in intelligence, toppling small kingdoms with whispers. Let's just say I got bored."
A chill rippled across my skin. "So you do this...for fun?"
He half shrugged. "Power is entertainment in this tedious world. You, Sorin, can learn to stand atop that hierarchy—if you have the spine."
As we left the alley's gloom, I risked a glance back. Could that really have ended so easily? My would-be attacker had just walked off, like someone replaced his aggression with compliance.
"I'm not promising anything," I said, forcing my voice steady. "But...thank you. For saving me."
Ravenor flashed a brief grin, his teeth stark in the neon glow of a distant sign. "We'll see if you thank me once you realize what true manipulation costs."
That ominous note sank into my gut. Yet part of me felt exhilarated. If this man spoke the truth—if I could learn how to control my fate—maybe I wouldn't be crushed under life's boot anymore.
"One question," I ventured. "That thug...did he realize you were manipulating him?"
"Probably not," Ravenor said lightly. "He just felt an odd impulse to back down. That's the beauty of subtle influence—it works best when your target believes it's their own idea."
My thoughts tumbled. I want that power. I shivered at how quickly I'd decided that.
"Come on," Ravenor murmured, nodding at a distant row of flickering streetlights. "Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we begin with the basics—reading a person's face, their stance, their words, until they're an open book. Then you decide how to rewrite their pages."
My stomach twisted at his metaphor. "Rewrite their pages...like controlling them?"
Ravenor shot me a sidelong glance. "Isn't that better than being the one controlled?"
I swallowed the retort dancing on my tongue. He wasn't exactly wrong. Every time I'd tried to be decent, life pinned me down. Maybe it was time to fight back using new rules.
"Yeah," I whispered at last. "I guess it is."
He turned away, and for an instant, his silhouette in the neon haze looked inhuman—like a demon wearing a man's shape. But I was past caring. Desperation can make devils look like salvation.
We walked on, the city's noises buzzing in my ears. A stray cat darted out from behind a dumpster, hissing. Ravenor paused long enough to let the cat brush against his leg before it fled. He glanced back at me, a flicker of amusement on his razor-sharp features.
"You're exhausted," he said. "Tomorrow, everything changes."
I nodded, too drained to argue. Tomorrow. A dangerous promise, maybe. But it beat having no future at all.
"Thank you," I murmured again, voice quavering.
Ravenor merely smiled—a chill smile that promised both instruction and damnation. He motioned for me to keep up, and I followed, half-terrified, half-thrilled.
If he could make a threatening thug walk away with a few words, maybe I could learn to bend my fate as well. No more cowering.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a warning bell rang. I silenced it. Let tomorrow's nightmares come. Tonight, I'd close my eyes knowing someone else bled for once—and for the first time, I wasn't the victim.