"Hey—give it back!" My heels kicked the alley stones so hard I nearly lost a shoe. I didn't stop yelling. I didn't stop running. "Lady, chill! It's nothing—just a phone—" the thief darted around a dumpster, panting like he'd run a marathon in a hoodie. "Nothing," I said. "That's my nothing." I reached for the strap as he tried to twist away. "Move," he snarled. "Or I drop it." He dropped it anyway. The phone slid across the wet concrete and hit the wall. I dove and snatched it before it skidded into a puddle. "That's my wallet too," I said, holding the bag up where he could see the brand. "You know who I am?" He froze. He saw the name on the ID and the brand on the bag, and his bravado went slack. "You got cash?" he asked, voice thin. "Give me cash, I'll walk." "No," I said. I stood up. The alley was narrow. A diner light flickered at the corner. Two late-shift delivery guys leaned against a truck, watching like it was free theater. "She's rich, boys," one said. "Leave her be." "Or what?" the thief snapped at them. "Or I make you famous," I said. He took a step back as if I might mean what I said. Then he laughed and tried to shove past. "Stop," I said. I moved faster than he expected. I grabbed his arm, twisted, and spun him