Closing is impossible, at least until she sees an opening. What Ember does instead is watch, and wait, and keep moving at the edge of the Alpha’s sight. No flank can work here, either, not without a partner. But she is slowly tightening the spiral, coming close enough that she can be ready for that opening. When it comes.

“At the very least,” she says, ducking behind a transport that will be melted to slag within three shots, “be honorable enough to tell me what has happened! This weapon you play with: what is [i]its[/i] renown, its lineage? Who was its maker, Star King? Who placed it into your hands?”

Traditional. Proper. Even though her body is taut, full of the tension of worry, her chest cannot help but lighten, her heart to race, as she tries to establish a good rhythm. Fight me as a daughter of Ceron, she is saying, even as she leaves Determination wet as a trail behind her where she has touched the world. Do not think you can get away without treating me as an equal.