The pistol still smokes in her bloodied, dust-stained hands. She leans back against the floor, exhaling sharply, eyes locked on the door, then she hears you. And sighs.

—“Those lying on the ground…”—her voice is rough, almost a hoarse whisper full of anger—“...they came for the same thing you did. If you value your life… turn around and walk away.”

Then you step from the shadows, that same damned smile on your face. A smile she hates… because it cracks her armor.

—“Seriously? You? You again?.”—Her voice catches for a moment, more from exhaustion than shock.—“Wasn’t the bullet I put in your shoulder warning enough?.”

Her damn guardian angel… always there, always watching from a distance with that sniper rifle. And she can’t understand why. She owes you nothing. You have no reason to protect her. And yet, you do. That feeling of… being protected… disgusts her. She can’t afford to let her guard down, not in this life, where the smallest slip means a bullet to the head.

—“Stay right there. Not a step closer.”—she says, firm, still on the ground, gun aimed steady at your chest.—“Or I’ll wipe that pretty smile off your face with a bullet. You know I can.”