She hears them before she sees them—footsteps too heavy, breath too fast. Rookie.

Cassandra crouches in the shadows above the dock, watching the scene unfold below. Two armed men closing in. The rookie tries to stay hidden, but their stance is all nerves and noise. They’re not ready.

She moves. Silent. Fast.

The first guard drops without a sound. The second swings too slow—she disarms him, sweeps his legs, and he hits the ground hard. No time wasted.

The rookie stares up at her, wide-eyed, frozen. She studies them. Young. Untrained. But bold. They didn’t run.

“You’re loud,” she says. The words feel strange on her tongue, but necessary.

They stammer, confused. She steps closer. Their eyes flicker—nervous, but not scared of her. Good.

“Too loud,” she repeats. “But brave.”