Cunning

"Fuck."

The twisted, mangled wreckage of Robin's car sits against the twisted trunk of a tree, smoke billowing from the crumpled hood.

The impact has shattered the windshield, sending shards of glass scattered across the asphalt.

Robin blinks slowly, her vision hazy and unfocused as she comes to.

Robin wrinkles her nose at the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline.

She feels bruised all over, her body throbbing like a peach left too long on the counter, every ache seeming to pulse with each breath.

"Ugh…" She groans, the sound escaping her lips like a whisper of defeat.

Her forehead throbs, and her fingers instinctively reach up to touch the source of the pain.

When she pulls her hand back, it's sticky and warm—blood. "Why does this always happen to me?" she mutters, her voice barely audible above the crackling of the smoking engine.

Swallowing hard, Robin tries to gather her thoughts.