The girl steps around to Vi’s side now, positioning herself so they’re face-to-face. Her posture is casual, arms loose, but there’s something predatory in the way she moves. Like she’s circling.
Other Runts at the table have stopped working. They’re watching now, eyes flicking between Vi and the girl, waiting to see what happens.
She says something else. Louder this time.
I catch the tail end of it. “—limping around like you matter.”
Vi’s hands curl into fists at her sides.
“Don’t,” I mutter under my breath.
Rogue glances at me. “You talking to her or yourself?”
I don’t answer.
The girl keeps going. “You’re still just a Runt.” She leans closer, her voice dropping again. “You think spreading your legs for them makes you special?”
Vi’s face flushes.
The other girl smiles. Then she delivers the last line,louder now, meant to carry: “I’m going to make you regret ever walking into this place.”
Silence drops over the table like a weight.
Vi’s breathing changes. Faster. Shallower.
Her hands uncurl slowly, fingers flexing once before she takes a single step forward. Toward her. Not away. Her body is coiled, tense, ready to explode.
“Shit,” Rogue says.
I’m already moving.
So is he.
We cut across the room in perfect sync, weaving between tables, our presence drawing immediate attention. People step aside without being asked. Conversations die mid-sentence.
By the time we reach them, Vi and the girl are inches apart, chest to chest, hands clenched, eyes locked.
Neither of them has thrown a punch yet. But they’re about to.
I step between them. Not gently. Not asking permission.
I place myself directly in Vi’s line of sight, blocking the girl entirely, my body a wall she can’t see past.
“Not here,” I say. “Not now.”
Vi’s gaze snaps to mine, her eyes blazing. “She?—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “I heard.”
“Then let me?—”
“No.”
“Armen—”
“No,” I repeat, firmer this time.
Behind me, I hear Rogue’s voice, low and flat. “Walk away.”
