No Hope at all
Tristan jerked away from the artist in slow motion. His adrenaline kicked in before his mind could even fully process the danger Tristan was in.
And not a moment too late. The artist moved with an almost inhuman speed, swinging a short combat knife right through where Tristan was standing before. An unopened can of spray paint cluttered on the ground.
'She's the assassin!' Tristan thought in the pause given to him by his talent. 'This entire place was a bait! No wonder my agent found it so easily—the assassin had planted the information and waited for me to come!'
If Tristan didn't have the 'String Theory' talent, he wouldn't have realized until he had a knife in his throat. The assassin feigned being ordinary incredibly well.
Until she attacked, not a single movement she made betrayed her combat skills, and her baggy clothing hid her muscles. Her graffito was a real thing, too, and a well-made one.