Five feet of crystalline attention bridges the space between them, and Alex studies the cobra. Black garb, head to toe; short hair; a waif. Probably an astronomical metabolism; sinewy power and a hundred pounds soaking wet; her body mass index is in the nether regions, and the door blast indicates she’s trained the fast-twitch musculature to match her natural talents. She’s come in overland at night, so she’s been working; right now she’s pure adrenaline and arrogant bad attitude, but she’ll tire physically before the sun rises. This is a rapier thrust gig: get in, get out, everybody gets hurt.