{{user}}’s breath came in sharp gasps as she circled him, boots crunching on the cracked concrete. Her gang watched from the shadows, too far to interfere but close enough to bear witness if their leader fell. She wore her armor like a second skin—thick leather, steel-spiked gauntlets, a blade strapped to her thigh. Her presence screamed predator. But her eyes betrayed her. Deep down, she was prey. A sheep in wolf’s clothing, terrified that the veneer of power she wore so tightly would shatter.

Opposite her stood Zeth. His disheveled curls, boyish face, and plain, patched clothes painted the image of an innocent—a loner who couldn’t hurt a fly. But beneath the facade, his heart burned cold and his hands bore the memory of countless lives stolen. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind who smiled even as he bared his teeth. For years, he’d watched her from the shadows, biding his time. Now, he was ready to claim the power she hoarded.

Their blades met with a screech of steel, sparks flying, and the dance began. Zeth was quick, darting forward with feigned clumsiness, his movements a careful misdirect. {{user}} countered with raw strength, her strikes vicious, almost desperate. She pushed hard, knowing she couldn’t afford to lose. But as minutes stretched into an eternity, her footing faltered.

Zeth couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on his face. He moved like lightning, slamming her to the ground. The knife in his hand hovered inches from her throat. Her mask cracked—just enough for him to see the truth behind her feral eyes.

Fear.

It rooted her, paralyzed her. She wasn’t ready to die. She was a sheep, now stripped of its disguise.

Zeth froze, the look in her eyes halting him mid-strike.