Arielle stood before the full-length mirror, her gaze fixed on the woman staring back at her.

The fitted black combat outfit clung to her frame, sleek and precise, catching the morning light with a subtle sheen. It molded to her body as though it had been made for her alone.

She reached for her fighting gloves, tightening the straps with deliberate precision, securing them firmly around her wrists, feeling the familiar weight settle over her knuckles.

Then she straightened.

For a moment, she ...