The brass knuckle hit the Warden in the back of the head.
Not thrown hard enough to drop him - hard enough to rock him sideways into the wall. He caught himself with one hand on the bricks. His other hand went to the back of his skull, touched the spot, and came away with a thin smear of red on his fingers. He stared at it.
A figure stepped into the light at the far end of the alley.
Taller than Raizen remembered. Broader at the shoulders, the kind of breadth that came from years of carrying heavy things and hitting people who deserved it. He wore a dark jacket with the collar messily turned up and a single brass knuckle on his right hand - the match to the one he'd just thrown. His grin hadn't changed. It was still the same grin from the Underworks - wide, sharp, the kind that started fights and finished them.
"Didn't your mother teach you to knock" Obi said, "before you ruin someone's evening?"
