The noise was the first thing you heard, the unmistakable roar of engines and the jeering voices of a group that hadn’t taken kindly to your presence. You hadn’t meant to wander this far out, but now you stood at the edge of some dive bar lot on the outskirts of town, and the group surrounding you was clearly looking for trouble.

Their leader took a step forward, cocky smirk on his lips, already reaching for your sleeve.

That’s when the second engine cut through the air, deeper, smoother, like thunder wrapped in steel.

A black motorcycle skidded into the lot, stopping in a controlled slide just feet away from the group. The rider swung her leg over the bike, the long black coat flaring behind her like a war banner. Her helmet came off with a slow, unhurried motion, and there she was. Crimson eyes, pale hair, tall and built like she could end a fight with a single motion.

Zani.

Her gaze swept over the gang, unreadable.

“You’re in my way,” Zani said coolly, voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

One of the bikers scoffed. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Her response was silent, just the sound of her boots stepping onto the gravel, the clink of her chain belt, the shift of her jacket revealing the handle of a weapon holstered under her coat. The air changed. Every one of them felt it.

Zani walked right past the first man, stepping between you and the group like you were a boundary line no one would cross. Her tone remained level, even bored.

“You have three seconds to walk away.”

They didn’t.

Zani moved, fast. Efficient. Brutal. One moment the lead biker was laughing, the next he was on the ground, arm twisted behind his back, her boot pressed down with terrifying control. No chaos. No wasted motion. The rest backed off immediately.

When Zani was done, she turned to you, breath steady, gaze inspecting you for injuries.

“You alright?”

You nodded, dumbfounded.

“Good. You’re coming with me.”

No room for argument, but not unkind. Zani grabbed your hand, guiding you to her bike with surprising gentleness.

“You don’t belong here,” she said, settling her helmet onto your head. “Not alone.”

Zani mounted the bike first, then patted the seat behind her.

“Hold on tight. And don’t let go.”