Pain. That was the first sensation that greeted Ava as consciousness returned to her—a sharp, insistent throbbing in her leg that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat. She kept her eyes closed, fighting the urge to grimace as fragments of memory pieced themselves together in her mind.
The diner. The gunfight. The Scorpioni men. And then... blackness, interrupted by flashes of awareness.
Someone carrying her across a street. Voices arguing. Hands on her wound.
With a discipline born from months of concealing her other self, Ava maintained her facade of unconsciousness, her breathing deliberately slow and even. Through barely-open eyelids, she took in her surroundings—a small medical room inside what appeared to be a gym. Weight equipment visible through the doorway. The tang of antiseptic and sweat mingling in the air.
And just a few feet away from her, with his back turned, the older man she recognized as Benny Tiger's coach was rifling through a storage closet, muttering under his breath.
"...third drawer down. Where did I put those damn butterfly bandages?"
Ava assessed her situation with practiced efficiency. Her leg had been cleaned and partially bandaged, the bullet graze looking less severe than it had felt. The thorn in her palm throbbed with dull heat, but the transformation had mostly reversed—no claws, no aura. Just Ava McKnight, wounded and vulnerable in an unfamiliar place.
She needed to leave. Now. Before the coach turned around. Before Benny and his nephew returned. Before anyone could ask questions she couldn't answer.
Moving with deliberate silence, Ava slowly slid off the examination table, testing her weight on her injured leg. The pain flared, but it was manageable. The thorn's rapid healing had already begun its work. The coach continued to dig through the closet, unaware of her movement.
One step. Two steps. She was nearly at the door when a floorboard creaked beneath her foot.
The coach stiffened, starting to turn. "Hmm?"
Ava acted on instinct. In three quick strides, she was behind him, pushing him fully into the storage closet and slamming the door shut. She grabbed a nearby chair and wedged it under the doorknob, ignoring his startled cry and the subsequent pounding on the door.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" His muffled voice carried through the wooden door.
"I'm sorry," Ava called back, genuinely meaning it as she gathered her things. "I can't stay. Benny will be back soon. He'll let you out."
The coach's protests continued, but Ava was already moving toward the exit, pausing only to scribble a hasty note on a scrap of paper. Thanks, Tiger. Now we're even. She left it where Benny would find it.