[Conrart rises to a crouch and sweeps his eyes over the alley. Too narrow for anyone to hide, unless they were above him. His heart beats in his throat as Conrart waits, the sun flickering in his eyes and the shadows deeper than midday should allow.]
[Reviewing the attack in his mind, all that is clear is a flash of black. Conrart knows enough to trust his memory, no matter how vague. Black is is.]
[He feigns relief, rising into a stance that could be interpreted as relaxed, trying to draw out the one in black.]