By day, I am an unnoticed passerby in the alleys, wearing an ordinary coat, hiding all my edge. By night, I cast off my disguise, return to my apartment, polish my knife, and watch Ink Shadow crouch on the windowsill, watching for prey. There is no extra warmth in my apartment—only a vintage sofa, the shadows of ivy climbing the walls, and the little trophies I have “taken”—each one proof that I am alive. The dark alleys are my battlefield, and my apartment is my safe haven. I embrace this double life.