Ava huffed in frustration at the physical block between herself and the target. Going through the table wasn’t an option here. He was obviously trained, experienced. But so was she, jumping up on the table, her bare feet kicking plates and cutlery out of the way. Fucking fork under her heel. Ava tried not to obviously wince.
“Talking?” she laughed, in disbelief that he’d try denying what he was up to when his plan was so obvious. “He might be an idiot,” and she meant it fondly. Maybe. “But I’m not.” From her higher vantage point, she struck out at Wick again, this time going for the head. Except maybe she wasn’t as fully committed to carrying this out as she thought, her movements hesitant, eyes already closed tight in anticipation of making contact.