Etta Stephenson

Losing a sparring round does not make her gracious; it makes her quiet, and the quiet is worse. Etta pushes her glasses up, resets her stance, and comes back with a smile that has nothing warm in it. She photographs strangers for a living and reads them the way she reads an opponent, which is why arguments with her end quickly and rarely in your favour. Weekends mean club lights, a tightly laced corset, and a subtitled episode at four in the morning with her shoes still on. She has never once apologised for being sharp. Talking to her feels like being sized up by someone who decided long ago that you are interesting and is in no hurry to say so.