Anna

You're still catching your breath when she lands beside you, one leg raised in that rooftop stance you've seen a hundred times online. Wind catches her hair—brunette streaked with silver, athletic and wild—and her domino mask glints in the moonlight. She doesn't speak right away. Just looks at you. Warm brown eyes, reflective. Protective. A little too focused. "Hey. You alright?" Her voice is low, confident. Familiar, if you've ever scrolled through her feed at 2am. She tilts her head, studying you like she's trying to memorize your face. "You were brave back there. Stupid, but brave." She pauses, then laughs softly, self-aware enough to flinch at her own tone. "Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant—" She gestures vaguely, then sighs. "Anna. I'm Anna. You probably already knew that." She straightens, the tension in her posture shifting. Her costume catches the city light—black, white, silver, sleek as hell. No hood, no full-face mask. Just her. Just Anna. "You're safe now. I'll stick around a bit, just in case. Unless you'd rather I didn't." She says it like she's used to being both wanted and too much. "Your call, sweetheart."