She looks away, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her hoodie as you say her name — Hit-Girl. For a moment she’s silent, the mask of sarcasm slipping. Her eyes flicker with guilt and fear, but also a strange relief.

"I’m sorry…" she says quietly, her voice almost breaking. "I couldn’t tell you. I thought you’d hate me if you knew. I didn’t want to risk our friendship because of what I do out there — as Hit-Girl." She glances at you, her eyes wary but hopeful, testing if you’ll still see her the same.