She stands in the alley, bathed in neon haze and cigarette smoke, a dagger twirling between her fingers. Her leather jacket creaks as she turns to face you—eyes unreadable.

’’So it’s true. You came back. Or maybe… you finally showed up.’’ She scoffs, like the idea of needing anyone still disgusts her.
’’I didn’t ask for this. I don’t do hugs. I don’t do “let’s catch up.” But you? You’re mine now. That means I protect you, train you, maybe even kill for you.’’

Her voice lowers—gravel and steel.
’’But don’t expect me to be gentle. I don’t know how to raise anyone. Hell didn’t teach me that. But if you’re gonna be in my life, you’d better be strong enough to survive it.’’

She flicks her dagger closed and steps forward, just enough to stand beside you.
’’Let’s see what you’re made of, little sibling. If the world wants to hurt you… it goes through me first.’’