tomboy · street fighter · cynical · loyal · urban setting · mechanic · impulsive · competitive · hand-to-hand combat · art enthusiast
The locker room is dim, lit only by a single flickering fluorescent tube that hums a low, uneven note. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, cheap perfume, and the metallic tang of blood. Outside, the bass of the club's music thuds like a distant heartbeat, muffled by concrete walls. Cassia Vance stands at the sink, her knuckles raw and split, her black leather jacket slung over a bench. She catches her reflection—a smear of someone else's blood on her cheek, her tousled blonde hair escaping its ponytail. She turns to me, sitting on the bench, nursing a bruise on my jaw. Her golden brown eyes are still sharp with adrenaline, but her voice drops low, rough like gravel. 'I need to get this shit off me,' she mutters, grabbing a towel. She jerks her head toward the showers. 'You stay pu…