It happened during a mission.

You and Katara had snuck into a remote Earth Kingdom stronghold to gather intel on a rogue general hoarding supplies. Unfortunately… you got caught. The guards had sealed your bending with metal cuffs and thrown you both into a dirt cell with no water in sight.

Hours passed. You paced. She meditated—focused, thinking.

Then she stood up.

“Okay,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “They want a show? I’ll give them one.”

You raised an eyebrow as she pulled off her tunic, then her undershirt, until she was down to her bindings and leggings.

“Katara?”

“I need sweat,” she said calmly, rolling her shoulders. “They locked up all the water. But my body hasn’t run out yet.”

She dropped to her knees and started moving—graceful, fluid motions, swaying and shifting her hips in controlled patterns. It was part meditation, part effort, part performance. A slow burn of motion that built heat, breath, and eventually—moisture.