The smile on Mia's face lasted less than a second.
But the man saw it.
And immediately understood he had miscalculated something.
Badly.
"You should move your hand," Mia said quietly.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
Which somehow made it worse.
The drunk guy laughed reflexively, mostly because his brain had not yet caught up with the danger standing in front of him.
Behind him, two of his friends had already stood from their table.
Alcohol.
Audience.
Male ego.
Humanity's favorite evolutionary debuff.
"What, she bites?" one of them snorted.
Octave pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh good," he muttered. "The species is coordinating."
Ishtar was already standing now.
And unlike Mia—
she looked delighted.
Not bloodthirsty.
Relieved.
Like the universe had finally simplified itself into something honest.
Conflict.
Easy.
Understandable.
A man at the bar noticed her rising and immediately decided looking elsewhere was healthier for his future.
Smartest person in the building.
The drunk idiot near Mia still hadn't moved his hand.
Huge mistake.
Mia slapped it away hard enough to make him stumble sideways.
Not superhuman.
Just precise.
The sound cracked sharply through the pub.
Conversation around them died instantly.
There it is, Octave thought.
Social collapse achieved.
"You crazy bitch—"
The insult never finished.
Ishtar moved first.
Fast.
Terrifyingly fast for someone her size.
One step.
One hand.
She caught the man by the shirt and slammed him backward into the nearest table hard enough to shatter glasses and send beer everywhere.
People screamed.
Someone yelled: "Holy shit!"
The room exploded.
One of the man's friends lunged toward Ishtar immediately.
Terrible decision.
She pivoted smoothly and drove her elbow into his chest with a brutal crack of displaced air. The guy folded instantly, collapsing across the broken table gasping like his lungs had resigned from existence.
Aglaë stood frozen for exactly one second.
Then survival instinct apparently chose violence.
A third drunk grabbed for her wrist.
Aglaë panicked.
And smashed her beer bottle directly into his forehead.
The man dropped like a disconnected appliance.
Aglaë stared down at him in horror.
"Oh my God."
A beat.
"…Oh my God."
Octave looked genuinely impressed.
"Honestly cleaner technique than expected."
Meanwhile Mia had become very still.
Too still.
Not dissociated.
Focused.
A man twice her size rushed toward her from the side with the sloppy confidence of someone who had never once considered consequences as a concept.
Mia sidestepped automatically.
Ludwig's training.
Minimal movement.
Maximum effect.
She grabbed his momentum, redirected his arm downward, and drove her knee sharply into his stomach.
The impact emptied him instantly.
He collapsed coughing violently against the booth.
Mia stared at him breathing hard.
Pulse elevated.
Adrenaline burning.
And horrifyingly—
part of her liked it.
Not hurting people.
The clarity.
No voices.
No fragmentation.
No confusion.
Just movement.
Just action.
Ishtar grabbed another attacker by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first onto the bar hard enough to crack wood.
The bartender screamed: "WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!"
Octave calmly ducked a flying chair.
"Poor conflict resolution skills," he observed.
Then someone actually swung at him.
Big mistake.
Octave's expression flattened instantly.
The attacker froze mid-motion.
Completely froze.
Like someone had unplugged his nervous system.
The man remained standing upright for two full seconds before collapsing gently onto the floor unconscious.
The entire nearby section of the pub recoiled visibly.
Mia saw it happen.
And for half a second even she forgot the fight.
Psychic pressure.
Raw.
Invisible.
Effortless.
Octave adjusted his sleeve calmly.
"I hate physical confrontation," he sighed.
Ishtar burst out laughing mid-fight.
Actually laughing.
Which was objectively horrifying.
Another drunk hesitated near her and immediately reconsidered all his life choices.
Smart.
Too late.
Ishtar shoved him backward into two others like bowling pins.
Aglaë meanwhile looked seconds away from crying while accidentally becoming terrifying.
A guy grabbed her hoodie from behind.
She spun instinctively—
and something happened.
Not physical.
Emotional.
The man suddenly stopped moving.
His face twisted violently.
Fear.
Pure irrational fear.
He stumbled backward so abruptly he tripped over a chair trying to get away from her.
Aglaë stared at him in shock.
"I didn't—"
"Later!" Octave snapped.
Because now the entire pub had tipped past ordinary violence into full disaster territory.
Someone yelled about calling the police.
Someone else was filming.
Mia's instincts sharpened instantly.
Bad.
Very bad.
Ishtar wiped blood from the corner of her mouth with visible satisfaction.
"That helped."
"You need therapy," Octave informed her.
"I know."
Mia grabbed Ishtar's sleeve sharply.
"We have to go."
For once—
nobody argued.
The four of them bolted toward the exit while half the pub screamed behind them.
Aglaë nearly slipped laughing hysterically from adrenaline overload.
Octave was still somehow carrying his beer.
And as the cold rain hit them outside—
Mia realized something insane.
For the first time since escaping Triple E—
she felt alive.