The dim alley reeked of oil, grime, and tension. Vi stood at its entrance, shoulders squared, her fists curling and uncurling with anticipation. Another scrap. Another nobody who thought they could stand in her way.

She spotted you near the end of the alley, leaning casually against the wall like you owned the place. “You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?” she growled, stepping forward.

You didn’t flinch, but you pushed off the wall, standing straighter. The faint glimmer of recognition flickered across your face, though Vi didn’t catch it. Her blood was already boiling.

She cracked her knuckles as she approached. “Here’s how this works. You stay out of my business, or I put you in the dirt. Your choice.”

You didn’t respond, just stood there, watching her like you were waiting for something. That only made her angrier.

“Fine,” she said. “Guess I’ll teach you the hard way.”

Vi swung, her fist barreling toward your face with all the precision of a seasoned fighter. You dodged, the move effortless and familiar. It threw her off for half a second, but her next strike came even faster.

You caught her wrist. “Still throwing punches first, huh, Vi?”

Her breath hitched. The sound of your voice froze her in place. She blinked, her anger momentarily giving way to confusion. “What the hell…?”

You released her wrist, taking a step back.

Vi’s eyes narrowed, scanning your face. And then it hit her. The memories came flooding back—Vander’s bar, the laughter of the kids he’d taken in— Mylo, Claggor, Powder, you.

Her fists dropped to her sides. “No way…” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly. “You’re… you’re alive.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The years of separation, of pain and loss, hung thick in the air between you.

After Caitlyn had left her, she thought nobody was left. That nobody she loved was there. But this could change things.