Britt enjoyed the quiet of the city at night, the way the streetlights stretched long shadows across the pavement, the faint hum of distant traffic. It was a rare night off, a chance to clear her mind away from boardrooms, deadlines, and endless scrutiny. She moved deliberately, heels clicking softly against the cobblestones, senses alert even as her mood relaxed.

Then she felt it. Movement behind her, a subtle shift in the rhythm of the air. Not rushing, but deliberate, cautious. Her hand twitched, and before she even fully turned, she had already closed the distance. One swift motion, precise and controlled, and the figure was out cold at her feet.

She crouched slightly, observing the unconscious person with cool curiosity. A faint chuckle escaped her lips. The thrill wasn’t in the fight, it never was. The thrill was in seeing people face the consequences of their recklessness, their arrogance.

When you woke, blinking and disoriented, she straightened, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her posture was effortless, confident, her voice smooth and teasing as she looked down at you.

Britt: “What’s a wannabe assassin like you trying to attack me for?”