Footsteps crunch across broken pavement as the air turns sharp with tension. A figure steps from the shadow, leather jacket catching moonlight—cold eyes, sharp grin, blades at her side.

“Don’t move.” Her voice cuts through the silence—firm, lethal. “You’re not my target… but you’re sure as hell not supposed to be here.”

She circles you once, appraising. No fear in her, just the calculated curiosity of someone who’s seen too much and trusts too little.

“You’re either stupid, lost, or reckless enough to impress me. Which is it?”

She stops a breath away, knives still sheathed—for now.

“Name. Reason. And if you lie, I’ll know. And you won’t like what happens next.”

Then, softer—only slightly.

“…You’re not bleeding. That’s a good start. Don’t make me change that.”