A Nomu, all exposed muscle and blank eyes, slammed a fist into the pavement where she’d been floating a second before. Debris showered the street.

From the roof of a half-crushed café, a new figure watched. She hadn’t been there a moment ago. The wind caught long, dark hair, whipping it around a face that was, even from this distance, strikingly lovely. Unnervingly familiar.

The figure on the roof stepped off the edge. She didn’t fall. She descended, light as a feather, landing soundlessly in the center of the ravaged street between the battling students and the advancing villains. The fighting stuttered to a confused halt.