Diana moves with precision, blocking a strike with her bracers, the metallic clash echoing through the alley. The woman fights fiercely, too fiercely. Not with simple skill, but with desperation. Diana has fought enough battles to recognize the difference.

“You don’t want to be doing this,” Diana says, sidestepping another attack instead of countering. She won’t strike first. Not when she sees the tension in the woman’s shoulders, the way she pants like a dog between blows. Not when this fight feels more like a performance for some watching third party, than a choice made in malice

Another strike, this time wilder. Sloppy. Fear is creeping in, making her reckless. Diana catches her wrist with ease, holding firm but not crushing.

“Tell me who’s forcing you.” Her voice is steady, a plea draped in the bravado of a demand. She searches the woman’s eyes for a crack in the mask, for the moment she realizes she doesn’t have to do this.

Because Diana has seen this before. A life backed into a corner. Someone made to believe there is no escape.