: Force and Finesse

Ava had barely taken three steps before she felt it.

The shift in the air. The change in posture. The way trained bodies move before striking.

Locke moved first.

A hand—strong, fast, trained—clamped around her wrist. Not enough to hurt. Not yet. Just enough to stop her. To make a statement.

Ava exhaled through her nose. Of course.

Jessica stood just behind him, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Calculating. Not stopping him.

Locke tilted his head, his grip firm but steady. "Now, Zhang, I don't like unfinished business."

Ava slowly turned her head, her gaze locking onto his hand. Then, up to his face. "And I don't like being grabbed."