Yeah, no, fuck that.

Ezra's plan had been to just distract the guy long enough to let the kid run off, but that wouldn't work this time. He does that and he just comes after (really? Spot Conlon?) again. And no one, even apparently a lying rich kid, deserves what this man seems willing to dish out.

"No," he says, stepping into the alleyway. "You run along."

He's never ever done this with humans before. He's experimented on rats before, even pigeons, but never even thought about trying it on the stray cats around the neighbourhood. He may have managed to sell a pape or two where the buyer wasn't sure if he wanted one, but nothing this big and nothing this deliberate.

But he can't see that he's got another choice.

He squares off against the man and then - then his glare softens and he holds out a hand and reaches further with his mind.

"This ain't your son," he says.

Hearst looks away from him and stares at Spot in confusion. "What?"

"You ain't seen your son today."

"I haven't seen my son today," Hearst tells him defensively.

"You're gonna go home."

"I'm going home," he announces like it's his idea, and marches out of the alleyway.

Ezra breathes out heavily and slumps against the wall. That was tiring.