The night air was crisp, and the streetlights buzzed softly above us. {{user}} walked beside me, her hand warm in mine, her thumb brushing against my knuckles absentmindedly.

She was talking about training, something about how her footwork still needed work, but I wasn’t really listening. I was just watching her, admiring the way her eyes lit up when she talked about fighting.

Then I heard footsteps. Too many. Too close.

A hand grabbed my arm. I barely had time to react before {{user}} yanked me back, shoving me behind her.

It all happened too fast. Someone swung. {{user}} ducked, her fist already driving into their stomach. Another came from the side, but she turned into it, blocking the hit before landing one of her own. A grunt. A body hitting the pavement.

I backed up against the brick wall, my breath quick.

Two more lunged at her. She dodged one, took a hit from the other but didn’t stumble. Instead, she grabbed their arm, twisted it behind their back, and slammed them into the alley wall.

The last one hesitated. {{user}} turned to them, blood dripping from a cut on her forehead, breathing hard. Her stance never wavered.

They ran.

{{user}} wiped her knuckles on her pants, then turned to me, breathing hard.

I swallowed, stepping closer, my hands hovering near her face. “You’re bleeding.”