Sarah and Cecilia both stumbled to a halt as the man in black stepped into their path.

In the dark, he was mostly just a silhouette, but it was uncanny how much he looked like the real thing: broad shoulders that sloped downward to muscular arms, hands halfway curled into fists at his side. The only thing missing was the telltale head tilt as he surveyed them.

But any illusion of the man before them actually being Matt was quickly dispelled when he reached for the batons strapped to his thigh, withdrawing one and taking aim directly at the two women.

Before he could send the baton flying at either of them—and if Sarah had to guess she would assume it was coming her way specifically—several fleeing party guests burst around the corner, darting between the man in black and his targets. They were running towards the same exit sign that Sarah and Cecilia had been, and in their panic they paid no attention to the three figures standing stock still in the hallway facing each other.

"Come on," Sarah said, snapping out of her panicked stupor and grabbing Cecilia's arm to drag her along with the others who were running away.

When she glanced over her shoulder, Fake Daredevil had disappeared into the shadows in much the same way the real one was so good at. Her stomach dropped at the thought of not knowing where he was, but she turned her attention forward again before she could accidentally run into anyone in the dark.

Just as the first few escaping partygoers reached the stairwell, the door burst open; some of the armed men from down in the ballroom had made it up the stairs in an alarmingly short time. The dark shapes of guests and attackers blurred together in the dark, and Sarah heard someone scream.

Instinctively, Sarah grabbed Cecilia's arm again and yanked her back a few feet, both of them stumbling in their heels as they sprinted down a hallway to their right. Sarah pulled them into the first room they reached, eager to get out of the hallway where they were easy targets.

It was a large exhibit hall with paintings covering the walls, leaving only a small strip of windows at the very top to let a tiny bit of light in. The middle of the room was scattered with various large shapes that Sarah assumed were art installations, although in the dark she couldn't make out what they were.

Cecilia immediately dashed towards one of the dark shapes to hide behind it, her heels clacking loudly against the floor.

Sarah was about to do the same, but before she could she heard the sound of running footsteps coming in their direction. Not wanting to make any more noise, she took a few quick steps back as quietly as she could and ducked around the side of a partition displaying several large paintings.

The footsteps grew louder as two men stopped just outside the entrance to the room. The light from their flashlights illuminated the tiled floor as they spoke in hushed tones.

"Think there's any stragglers?" one of them asked the other.

"Dunno. Doesn't matter much, anyway. Boss is only interested in the two he told us about."

"Yeah, but a crowd like this?" the first man responded. "We could at least get some jewelry or cash off some of these people."

The two of them stepped farther into the room and raised their flashlights, illuminating the walls with small circles of light.

"Aw, shit. Seriously?" one of the men complained. "That's creepy."

In the light of their flashlights, it was clear what he was creeped out by: the exhibit Sarah and Cecilia had chosen to hide in appeared to be, unfortunately enough, clown themed. Sarah could see them as the flashlights moved across the wall: big, colorful paintings of clowns, old black and white photos of circus clowns, even statues of them. From every corner of the room, brightly painted eyes watched from the shadows as the flashlights moved across the walls.

One of the flashlights tracked across Cecilia's hiding place, which Sarah could now see was a life-sized Jack-in-the-Box made from what looked like foraged scrap metal and recyclables. Luckily, it was large enough that Cecilia was completely concealed behind it, and the flashlight kept moving.

Unfortunately, it was moving towards Sarah, who hadn't been able to find a hiding spot quite as good. In the shadows she could blend in by pressing herself back against the wall, but she knew when the light hit her there would be nowhere to go.

Sarah's heart raced as she silently fumbled in her small bag until her fingers closed around her pepper spray. Not that it would do her much good if these two had the same semi-automatics that the men downstairs had been brandishing, but it felt better than being completely empty handed.

The man's flashlight got closer to her, illuminating the large painting directly across from her, which was of several clowns playing chess. Sarah held her breath and studiously avoided looking into the doleful eyes of the clown closest to her, who appeared to be losing his game of chess if the exaggerated frown painted over his mouth was any indication.

She kept as still as possible as the flashlight lingered on the clown's face.

"Jesus," the man said. "Look at this one. Who the hell pays for this shit?"

"I don't know. Rich idiots. Come on. I hear people down the hall," the other one said.

Sure enough, if Sarah listened she could hear the echoing sound of hysterical voices coming from somewhere far on the other side of the third floor.

The bright light moved away from Sarah, and the sound of the two men's footsteps quickly faded as they went searching for the source of the faraway noise.

She let out a shaky breath and tried to listen, straining her ears to see if she could hear anyone else coming—and beyond that, what was going on below. But before she could even begin to focus, Cecilia darted out from her hiding spot and towards the hallway.

"Cecilia, no!" Sarah hissed, making a grab for the other woman, but it was too late. She was already out of her reach.

Cursing herself for somehow getting stuck with the worst possible person for a situation like this, Sarah ran after Cecilia, who was running down the opposite way from the direction the two men had just gone.

After a few steps, Sarah nearly tripped, and with a muttered swear she stopped to yank her high heels off. The last thing she needed was to roll an ankle, and they were too loud anyway. She saw Cecilia disappear around a corner, now far ahead of her.

Moving easier now that she was barefoot, Sarah ran down the hall after her, and as she got closer she could hear the sounds of a struggle.

She rounded the corner and saw another red exit sign illuminating a stairwell door a few yards ahead of her. In the dim light from outside, Sarah could just make out the sight of Cecilia struggling with a heavyset man who had her by the hair with one hand. She yelped and clawed at the hand that was twisted in her hair, kicking her heeled foot towards him futilely. He had something in his hand, but it was so dark and they were struggling so much that it took Sarah a moment to recognize what it was: a thin white zip tie, already looped into a wide circle so all he had to do was slip it over Cecilia's hands and tighten. And that was what he was trying to do, although Cecilia was putting up her best fight.

Even as Sarah ran towards them, she wasn't sure what she was planning to do. Everything Matt had taught her was meant for fighting off someone who was attacking her, not someone else, and the added person complicated the situation. She could try pepper spraying him, but he was so tangled up with Cecilia that she would just end up spraying her, too. And as grimly satisfying as that sounded, Sarah couldn't afford to be dragging a half-blind Cecilia around the museum if she wanted to reach Lauren and Greg any time soon.

Sarah's purse was still in her hands as she reached them, so she did the first thing that came to mind and swung the thin chain strap over the man's head, yanking back on his neck as hard as she could. She wasn't strong enough to do any actual damage, but it made him let go of Cecilia in surprise. Cecilia lost her balance and fell backwards hard, hitting the tile floor with a pained cry as her high heel snapped and her ankle twisted to the side.

The man let out a strangled grunt, stumbling back and grabbing at the thin chain around his neck. He yanked at it and it came loose from Sarah's bag with a snap as he spun around towards her.

His attention was now on her, which was both good and bad. Bad because she generally didn't like large, angry men paying attention to her, but good because at least this was a scenario she was more familiar with.

He lunged at her, grabbing her forearm as she threw it up in front of her face defensively.

("When someone's trying to attack you, you either want to be right up close, or ten feet away," Matt was saying, already beginning his lesson as he held the ropes of the ring up for Sarah to climb up. "But anything in between gives them all the leverage."

"Well, that's easy. I choose ten feet away," she said, beginning to take a few steps back.

But Matt grinned and shook his head, his hand darting out to catch her waist and spinning her back towards him.

"That's great if you have the chance to get some distance," he said as he wrapped his long fingers tightly around her wrist, not painfully, but enough that she knew she'd never be able to pull away if she tried. "But if someone's got a lock on your wrist, it means ten feet isn't an option, so you work with right up close."

"Great," Sarah said. "I'm so glad the bad guy gets to make that choice for me."

"Just the initial part. The rest is up to you. So what do you do?")

Oddly, in the heat of the moment it almost was a relief that the choice was made—Sarah didn't have to waste precious time debating between fight or flight, because with this man's fingers digging bruises into her arm, flight was no option.

Right up close it is, she thought grimly.

She felt the man's grip tighten on her arm as he shifted his weight back in anticipation of her trying to pull away. So it took him off guard when instead she twisted so her back was to him and slammed her entire weight back against him, throwing him off balance.

They both careened into the wall behind him, and his grip loosened on her arm. There was a low bench to their right, and pain shot through Sarah's leg as her right knee knocked hard against the edge of it.

In the moments it took Sarah to regain her balance, the man had already straightened up, and she barely had a second to register as his fist came flying towards her face. She jerked backwards, managing to avoid taking the brunt of the punch directly to her face, but she wasn't fast enough to dodge it entirely. His fist connected with the corner of her mouth, a glancing blow that snapped her head to the side and immediately filled her mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

The impact sent her reeling backwards, and her opponent took advantage of the moment to lunge forward. Much like he had with Cecilia, the man went straight for her hair, snarling his fingers into the chignon Lauren had so carefully done for her earlier that evening and yanking her back towards him.

("Why do men always go for the hair?" Sarah complained.

They were in the ring, taking a short break so Sarah could catch her breath and Matt could drink some water. They'd been running through different scenarios, and in recalling the various times she'd had to fight someone, it had occurred to Sarah that she ended up getting grabbed by the hair more often than not.

Matt finished taking a long swig of water and lowered the water bottle, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he shrugged.

"Quickest way to get the upper hand on someone," he said simply. "At least someone smaller than you. Makes it easier to—"

"Swing them around like a ragdoll?" Sarah finished dryly, thinking of how she'd been on the receiving end of that more than once.

"Basically."

"Hm," she said, idly twisting a few stands from her ponytail around her finger. "How short do you think I'd have to cut it to take that upper hand away from them?"

She was just musing out loud; she wasn't really going to cut her hair. She liked her hair, and she wasn't going to give up something she actually liked about herself because creeps wanted to take advantage of it.

But she caught the quick flash of alarm that crossed Matt's face before he quickly hid it.

"Cut your hair?" Matt repeated.

Sarah bit back a grin at his reaction.

"Yeah. Like maybe a buzz cut," she said seriously.

"You...could do that," Matt said, and she had to appreciate his efforts to sound neutral even as he failed miserably.

"Alright, don't have a heart attack, Murdock," she teased him. "I'm not going to cut all my hair off."

With a relieved half-grin, Matt took another long drink from his water bottle.

"Good to hear."

"But there's got to be some move you can show me that will help me get away from the hairpullers of Hell's Kitchen."

Matt nodded, leaning down to set his water bottle outside the ring before straightening back up.

"Yeah, I can show you," he said. He nodded to the space in front of him. "Come here."

She moved closer until she was right in front of him.

"The concept is similar to someone grabbing you by the wrist," he said. "They're trying to get control of you, and this particular hold gives them a lot of control."

As he spoke, he reached up and took her hair in a firm grasp at the base of her ponytail, then gave a mild tug.

Sarah drew in an unsteady breath, and Matt frowned.

"Am I hurting you?"

She tried to shake her head, but his grip on her hair kept her still.

"Uh, no," she said quickly as she tried to ignore the heat that flushed her face. "It's...I'm fine."

Ever the professional when they were in the ring, Matt made no comment as his sightless eyes flicked over her. Still, she saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth, and could tell he was carefully filing the information away.

"Good," he said, an unmistakable trace of amusement in his voice as he tightened his hold just slightly. "So, if the person is attacking you from the front...")

The man's tight grip on her hair made her give a pained yelp, and she stumbled as he wrenched her head to the side so hard it felt like he was trying to snap her neck. Maybe he was.

Sarah frantically tried to remember what she was supposed to do in this situation, but her main memory of that particular training session was mostly taken up by how deeply distracting she'd found the feeling of Matt's hand gripping her hair, and the lesson he'd imparted on her was coming up blank. A glaring and entirely predictable flaw in their carefully planned self-defense sessions, it seemed, because this man was not Matt and his brutal hold on her hair was nothing but extremely painful.

The surge of adrenaline in her system must have finally shocked her muscle memory into gear, and she found herself quickly using both hands to grab the man's wrist just above where he was grasping her hair. In doing so, some of the pressure on her scalp lessened as her arms absorbed some of his movement. She curled into him as best she could, bending her knees so he had to bend his arm down to keep a hold on her.

Now within a few inches of him, she brought her knee up as hard as she could, hoping that despite her flailing limbs she might manage to connect somewhere close to his groin. Ironically, it occurred to her that if Greg had grabbed the floor length dress she'd wanted him to, she would barely be able to move her legs at all.

From the strangled noise the man let out and the immediate lessening of his grasp on her hair, her aim was better than close. He then let go of her hair altogether and gave her a violent shove, trying to push her to the floor. But she still had a hold on his wrist with both hands, and digging her fingernails in even harder she refused to let go. She dropped lower, and he bent with her, allowing her to bring her knee up again—this time directly against his face.

On the one hand, the move brought about the desired effect: he howled in pain and she heard the distinct crunch of a nose breaking as her knee made contact. On the other hand, it resulted in him dropping to the floor and dragging her along with him.

(Sarah's back hit the mat hard, and not for the first time that night. All the breath left her body in one painful exhale, and she stared up at the gym ceiling as she slowly dragged air back into her lungs.

She felt Matt kneel down next to her, gauging her condition after having kindly knocked her on her ass only seconds before.

"You alright?" came the usual question.

"Yeah," she panted, but there was annoyance in her tone. Not at Matt, but at herself for continuously failing to get this move right no matter how many times Matt ran her through it. "Give—give me a second and I'll be ready."

He tilted his head and fixed her with a doubtful look.

"I think we might be done for the night," he said. "It must be almost time, anyway."

Sarah craned her neck to look at the large clock that hung on the gym wall. They still had another twenty minutes left.

"No," she said as she struggled up to lean on her elbows. "We have time to try once more."

Matt shook his head. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

"Well, one of us has to," she muttered.

She realized as she said it that it might have been a mistake, but it was too late.

Matt's eyebrows flew up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Sarah weighed the idea of brushing the comment off, not wanting to waste the last minutes of their session on an argument—especially when she so rarely won any of their arguments, and she didn't know if she really felt like having her ass handed to her verbally in addition to literally. But with a sigh, she decided to answer honestly. "It means you've been going easy on me lately."

"Going easy on you?" he repeated. He jerked his chin towards where she was currently still sprawled out on the mat. "Did you miss the part where you're on the ground because I put you there?"

"Yeah, this time. But I messed up a bunch of other times, and you just let it slide," she said. "You've been letting a lot of things slide ever since..."

Ever since they'd gotten back into their training sessions after Matt had bruised her face—and elbow, and wrist—halfway to hell when he'd lost his hearing.

Sarah saw Matt's jaw tick, but he didn't deny it. She knew he'd assigned himself much more blame for that situation than he'd needed to, and she'd mostly given up on trying to convince him otherwise. But he'd finally agreed to start up their training again, and now it felt like he was holding back even more than usual.