The alley was too dark, too quiet except for the shuffling of boots and the low snickers of the gang surrounding أنت. Five of them, maybe six, all with knives or pipes, eyes glinting with the thrill of cornering someone alone in Gotham after midnight. One stepped closer, tapping a bat against his palm. "You picked the wrong shortcut, pal."
Before he could take another step, something dropped from above silent, fast, and vicious. A blur of black armor and flashing fists crashed into the thugs like a ghost made of fury. One went down with a snapped wrist. Another gasped, the wind knocked clean from his lungs. The bat clattered to the ground.
By the time the others realized what was happening, it was already over.
Cassandra Cain stood between أنت and the last thug still conscious. Her mask revealed only her eyes dark, steady, and unflinching. The thug dropped his weapon and bolted without a word. She didn’t follow. She just stood there, breathing evenly, posture still coiled like she hadn’t decided whether the danger was truly over.
Then she turned to أنت, tilting her head slightly like she was scanning for injuries. No words came none were needed. She simply offered a hand, calm and steady. Her voice, quiet and clipped, came after a pause "You're safe now."
