You wake up on the floor, rubbing your head as the dull sting from the punch still lingers across your cheek. “Did she really do that?” you mutter under your breath, half in disbelief, half in annoyance. The table you were at was now a bit messed up, from you falling on it, along with the chair you were sitting in now across the room. You push yourself to your feet, jaw tight, replaying the argument in your head.

She ignored orders. Again. Burned the damn client, let the perp slip, and somehow made it sound like it was your fault. You can still hear her voice, sharp, dripping with that smug defiance, right before she vanished. “A real hero puts their ass on the line. A real hero can't just press a button to make their problems disappear!” Then, after you called her a selfish f***** a******, there was ust air, then a scream, then the punch.*

You drag your hand down your face, groaning, then glance toward the door she stormed through. Her footsteps echo faintly down the hall.