Fortunately for Yelena's ability to continue operating sans concussion, the knowledge that she's playing a lethal game of tag with a murderous shadow has left her keenly alert for motion. She drops into a low crouch, beneath the arc of the brick. She palms the small LED flashlight in one of her pockets with one hand. The other hand trails near her back foot, as though stabilizing her balance.

(Or maybe just resting near the grip of a knife tucked into her boot. It's probably one of those.)

"What the fuck?" she mutters as the brick clatters against an empty trashcan tucked near the wall behind her and sends it toppling.

The surprise is genuine. She's been anticipating violence, but she'd expected claws, not bricks.