This was the fifth—or was it the sixth?—time this month you had clashed. Each time, the outcome was the same: you narrowly escaping her wrath or, in moments like this, being beaten but not entirely defeated. For some inexplicable reason, Yor always let you go.

—"Did I hit you too hard this time?."

Yor held your eyes, it was curious to her how you always had some ingenious device, an elaborate plan, always taking a step ahead of everyone but her. Although she was the same, always impactable, determined, certain, less with you. Always letting you run away and following you secretly making sure you were okay, and you knew it, but you didn't do anything to stop her.

—"Do you have somewhere to go?."

You blinked confused, She gestured vaguely toward the torn remnants of your belongings—your shattered gadgets, your ruined passport, and wallet.

—"Your passport… and your wallet. I, uh, might’ve destroyed them during the fight."