Tony realises he’s being filmed about three seconds too late.

  Which is usually fine. Tony lives about three seconds late.

  They’re outside a chicken shop that smells like oil and arguments. Neon buzzing. People half-lingering, half-moving on. The night’s loose, the way it gets when nothing official is supposed to be happening.

  Arthur’s mid-sentence, something about routes and overlap. Cameron’s listening with half an ear, watching reflections in the glass. Lenny’s got his hood up, scanning faces like it’s a reflex.

  Tony rolls his shoulder again. It still hurts. He pretends it doesn’t.

  A voice cuts in behind them. Young. Curious. Too confident.

  “Oi. Is that you lot.”

  Tony turns, already smiling. “Depends who’s asking.”

  Three lads. Phones out. Casual about it. One of them’s already recording, arm low, pretending he’s not.

  Arthur sees it and opens his mouth.

  Tony’s already talking.

  “You filming,” Tony says. Amused. Light.

  “Just asking questions,” the lad says.

  Tony nods. “Cool. Ask.”

  “What was all that earlier,” the lad says. “Looked mad.”

  Tony laughs. “Mad’s one word for it.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Cameron shifts his weight.

  Arthur steps in. “We don’t—”

  Tony waves him off. “Nah, it’s fine.”

  The lad grins. “You lot heroes or what.”

  Tony snorts. “Nah. Heroes get paid.”

  Someone behind them laughs. Another phone comes out.

  Tony warms to it. You can hear the moment he does.

  “They roll up like they own the road,” Tony says, gesturing vaguely down the street. “Acting official. Acting tidy.”

  The phone tilts higher.

  Arthur murmurs, “Tone.”

  “And then,” Tony continues, “soon as someone pushes back, they start chatting ‘stability’ like that explains anything.”

  The lad nods, eyes bright. “Say less.”

  Tony doesn’t.

  “They’re not there to help,” Tony says. “They’re there to look helpful. Big difference.”

  Cameron turns. “Tony.”

  Tony glances at him. “I’m just chatting.”

  “You’re performing,” Arthur says.

  Tony grins. “Exactly.”

  A woman walking past slows. Another phone rises.

  Tony leans into it now.

  “They call it sanctioned,” he says. “You know what that means, yeah. Means they get to swing first and write about it after.”

  Someone whoops.

  Cameron steps closer. “That’s enough.”

  Tony looks at him. “Why.”

  “Because it is.”

  Tony hesitates. Just long enough to feel it.

  Then he shrugs. “Alright. Last thing.”

  Arthur exhales too early.

  Tony leans toward the camera, casual, almost friendly.

  “And don’t get it twisted,” he says. “If you see them roll up smiling, it means someone already got picked.”

  For half a second the street goes quiet.

  Then noise rushes back in.

  The lad lowers the phone, buzzing. “Safe, man.”

  Tony nods. “Stay safe.”

  They walk.

  Arthur doesn’t speak for a full block.

  Lenny breaks first. “That’s travelling.”

  Tony laughs. “Good.”

  Arthur stops walking. “No. Not good.”

  He turns his phone around.

  Already uploaded.

  Already captioned.

  Already stitched with footage from earlier.

  Tony mid-laugh.

  Tony mid-gesture.

  Tony very clear.

  Cameron watches it once.

  Then again.

  The comments move too fast to read.

  Arthur scrolls. “They’re tagging it.”

  “Tagging who,” Tony says.

  Arthur doesn’t answer.

  A notification pings.

  Then another.

  Cameron’s phone vibrates.

  Once.

  He doesn’t check it.

  Tony keeps talking. “You see his face though. The one in the jacket. Man looked rattled.”

  Arthur looks up slowly. “They’re not clipping him.”

  Tony frowns. “What.”

  “They’re clipping you.”

  The street keeps moving like nothing’s changed.

  Cameron feels the shift anyway.

  Not pressure.

  Direction.

  His phone vibrates again.

  This time he checks it.

  One message.

  No number.

  > Appreciate the clarity.

  This helps.

  Cameron locks the screen.

  Tony watches his face. “Who’s that.”

  Cameron pockets the phone. “Harry.”

  Tony laughs. “Of course it is.”

  Arthur closes his eyes. “You gave him exactly what he needed.”

  Tony’s grin flickers. “I told the truth.”

  “Yes,” Cameron says. “On his terms.”

  Tony opens his mouth.

  Closes it.

  The clip refreshes.

  Someone’s added captions.

  Someone’s added music.

  Someone’s decided what the moment was.

  The scroll doesn’t stop.

  And neither will this.