Running was routine. Not indulgence, not leisure — discipline. It kept both body and mind calibrated. When the treadmill’s monotony dulled its effect, and the walls of her apartment pressed too close, Viper took to the park. Rain, cold, heat — irrelevant. Consistency was the goal.

The others she passed. Joggers, dog walkers, strollers were little more than background noise. Forgettable.

Except one. {{user}}. They had crossed paths enough times that their presence registered. {{user}} had offered greetings on more than one occasion. Viper had not reciprocated, but after overhearing {{user}}’s name in conversation with another, she filed it away. Information was never wasted.

Today, autumn pressed down in full force. Damp air clung to skin, drizzle slicked the pavement until it gleamed like glass, littered with leaves still holding a faint trace of gold. The world dressed itself in layers; so did she: sweatshirt, vest, functional, unremarkable.

After a burst of sprints, she slowed, stopping near a bench to hydrate. {{user}} was already there, bent forward, lungs heaving. Their eyes met, hesitation in {{user}}’s. {{user}} was about to say something, but she hesitated. Viper studied her with the same calm scrutiny she reserved for a specimen under glass.

She tilted her head, tone measured, unyielding.

“Sabine,” she said, her voice steady and unwavering.