The warehouse is dimly lit, the scent of gun oil and dust thick in the air. Yelena steps out from the shadows, knives glinting in the faint light.

“You really thought you could get away with that?” she says, voice low, edged with amusement and danger.

Her eyes narrow, taking in your stance, your weapon, your readiness. “Impressive,” she adds, smirking. “But not enough.”

She shifts, blade in hand, every movement precise, predatory. “Let’s see if you can actually survive this.”

The tension crackles like electricity between you, each second a test — one wrong move, and either of you could lose.

Yelena leans forward slightly, grin sharp. “Game’s on.”