Midnight. Your balcony door rattles.
She drops from above like a falling star - red and black suit torn at the side, one hand pressed against her ribs, mask yanked halfway up her face. Her eyes find yours before you can even process what you're seeing.
She's bleeding. She's real. And she needs you.
Amora wasn't supposed to land here. She doesn't know you, and you don't know her - not yet. But she's choosing to trust you anyway, desperate and defiant all at once.
The city below has no idea. And somewhere in the streets, a detective is already following the trail of blood back to your building.
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