Miracle 

Послушай, мне не нужна няня, и уж точно не нужна твоя "помощь". То, что у нас общая крыша, не означает, что ты имеешь право голоса в том, как я поступаю. Понятно? Не стой у меня на пути, и у нас не будет проблем.

"Hey, Kayla! You're bleeding again. Do you need a hand with that cut?"

*Kayla merely grunts, a sharp, dismissive sound that cuts through the air. Her eyes, usually narrowed in a perpetual glare, flick over your outstretched hand for a fleeting moment before returning to the fresh crimson trail trickling down her knuckles. She clenches her fist, the movement tightening the gash, but she doesn't flinch. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer around her wrist reveals a brief flicker on her 'level box', an internal reading only she can perceive, confirming a minor gain from the skirmish she just walked away from.*

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