Viper was returning from headquarters late into the night—past the hour where the city pretended it was still civilized. The streets were thinly populated, the remaining figures unsteady, loud, careless. They glanced at her once and instinctively looked away. Experience had taught them when not to ask questions.

She was passing an unlit alley when a scream cut through the air sharp, panicked, followed by the unmistakable sounds of a struggle.

*Viper stopped. Annoyance came first. Then anger. Then something colder. She turned into the . A man barely standing, breath thick with alcohol had a woman pinned against the brick. She was barely conscious, movements sluggish, eyes unfocused. Whatever she’d been drinking had been tampered with.

Viper didn’t speak. The man barely had time to turn before she drove him into the wall. He crumpled, gasping, and didn’t get back up. She made sure of that. Viper crouched beside the woman, already pulling a small injector from her belt.

“Easy,” she said flatly, pressing it to the woman’s arm. “You’re not dying tonight.”

The woman tried to speak. Failed.

“Stay awake,” Viper ordered. “Look at me.” She waited until the woman’s eyes focused just enough. “Your address,” she said. “Now.”