"I'll try," Arya said, and thought, valar morghulis even as she started to move, bending and turning as if to tie a shoelace and then throwing herself into a sprint from the crouch.

The man in the suit had been watching them, had been waiting for a signal, but he'd been waiting for their signal. He hadn't expected an American girl to be there, or to suddenly run at him.

Still, Arya gave him credit for his reaction time. He still managed to get his hand inside his suit, get the gun almost clear of his jacket.

The knife, thrown underhanded, took him in the throat.

She replaced the lost knife with his gun, snatched out of lifeless fingers, and grabbed his shirt with the other hand, twisting him to stay in front of her. He hadn't realized he should fall over, yet, and that gave her a second or two of cover.

Her eyes flicked between O-Ren and the surrounds, looked for who was next.