Xavier moved through the parking garage like a shadow, his new sunglasses darkening the already dim space. The concrete structure amplified voices, letting him track his targets well before he spotted them. Three rows down, the six men from outside the theater huddled around a black sports car, voices bouncing off the concrete pillars.
"Fucking hunter bitches," one complained, still cradling his wrist. "That blonde one nearly broke my arm."
"You should sue," another suggested, leaning against the car. "These academy broads think they can do whatever they want."
"Did you see that silver-haired one though?" A third guy whistled, his Metro University sweatshirt stretched tight across his chest. "Worth the risk, man. I bet she—"
"I bet she what?" Xavier interrupted, stepping into view at the end of the row.
Six heads snapped in his direction. The one with the injured wrist straightened up, wincing.