Northern had always known Roma was an amazing fighter. If she'd been born a Drifter, she would have become a devastating one.
It was quite sad that she wasn't.
But the way she'd dismantled those four was astonishing nonetheless.
She moved through them like water finding gaps in stone. Every time one lunged, she was already rotating away, using their momentum against them. When two came at once, she didn't retreat—she stepped *into* them, occupying the space between their attacks where neither could strike cleanly. Her elbow found a throat. Her knee found a stomach. A palm strike sent one staggering into another, tangling their limbs.
'This thing really is spicy.'
Northern's mouth was genuinely burning after the third peppered muscovy. He'd underestimated the vendor's warning. At this point, he wouldn't mind if a thief came and stole the rest.
He watched Roma work through watering eyes.
