The Avenger of Wrongs

Falling is nothing new to Shere. It's how you learn, how to pick yourself up afterward. You fall when you learn how to walk, when you learn how to run and dance. She fell many a time when she was learning how to scale buildings or throw a perfect left hook.

She's never fallen from quite this height before, though, or had a bullet in her shoulder to go along with it. The pavement below is rapidly approaching, and she knows this one's going to hurt; she'll be out of commission for at least a week recuperating. One more life scratched off her list.

And then something catches her wrist. No, someone. "You looked like you could use a little help," he says nonchalantly, pulling her up onto the small ledge with him.

She grimaces, leaning against the wall to catch her breath and then scowls at him. "Following me, are we?"

"You're in my city."

"I'm in your city quite frequently. Do you tag along then, too?"

He merely shrugs, which does nothing but infuriate her more.

"Don't you have more important things to be doing?"

"Not at the moment, no." He smiles at her. "You're welcome, by the way."

Her shoulder hurts. Emuishere hates it when he gets like this. Overbearing. Self-satisfied. Meddling. Right. "What for?"

"Saving your life," his head tilts and he eyes her shoulder, no doubt fully aware of her condition even in the dark of night with her in a skin tight black suit. "One of them, anyway."

"Next time, don't." She jumps the rest of the way down to the street then, more in control and barely feeling it when her feet hit the pavement. And then she's gone.

She knows if she looked up, he would be too.