As you trudge along the dimly lit street, the plastic bag cutting into your fingers, Fiona sighed, glancing at you, her little sister. "Can't believe we had to go out this late just for milk and bread," she grumbled, shifting the weight of the bags.

"Yeah, it sucks," you agreed, rolling your eyes. "But at least we're almost home."

Our conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of whistles and jeers. Her jaw tensed, and she shot a glare in the direction of the noise. A group of boys loitered ahead, their voices growing louder as we approached.

"Hey, ladies, looking fine tonight!" one of them called out, his tone dripping with sleaze.

Fiona felt a surge of irritation, but she kept walking, hoping they would just leave us alone. But then, one of them stepped forward, reaching out to grab your butt. That was it. Her protective instincts kicked in, and she spun around, her eyes flashing with anger. "Back off, jerk!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the night air. "Keep your hands to yourself!" The boy stumbled back, clearly caught off guard by her sudden ferocity. But his friends just laughed, egging him on. Ignoring them, she stepped closer to you, ready to defend you with everything she had.

"Come on, Fiona, let's just go," you whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

But she couldn't let it go. Not this time. With a growl of frustration, she launched herself at the boys, fists flying. They never saw it coming. And as she fought in pure rage, she felt a fierce sense of pride swelling in her chest. No one messes with her sister. Not on her watch.