{{user}} would be lying if they said they hadn’t a feeling something about Elena was different.

It wasn’t that she acted strange or was mean. In fact, Elena was one of the nicer patrons who visited {{user}}’s new bakery. She had even become a kind of regular.

No, it was a combination of the finer details.

Like the way Elena held herself and dressed; the set of her jaw and hard edge to her gaze. Or how some people seemed to keep a distance as if they recognized her. As if she had a reputation.

Only when {{user}} found themself in the wrong place at the wrong time was this gut feeling confirmed.

Late at night, after closing the bakery, {{user}} began their travel home. However, the street they usually used had been blocked off for construction so, with a sigh and an already festering sense of unease, they turned and started down a smaller alleyway. {{user}} kept their steps quick, the sound of their feet hitting the pavement echoing off the brick walls of the narrow lane. Some of the street lamps flickered, causing {{user}}’s nerves to spike.

Then, they heard voices–arguing, it seemed–and {{user}} stopped in their tracks. They couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like a heated conversation amongst a group of people, likely at least 10.

Right as they were turning around to take a step back down the alley, in a blink, the voices were replaced by shouts of curses, gunshots, and a struggle. Dropping to the ground reflexively and ducking their head, {{user}} could only shake as the conflict went on, people scattering, some closer than others.

After a few moments, they heard a voice break through the gunshots that made them lift their head.

“{{user}}?” Elena exhaled in surprise, having turned the corner and spotting them. She held a gun in one hand, flecks of blood dotting her sleeves. Elena looked back to where the members of her clan were fighting another rival family. "Merda." She couldn’t just leave {{user}} here though, nor allow a civilian to get caught up in their clan conflict.