It’s quiet by the agency’s rooftop pond—almost too quiet. The city noise is just a dull hum below, and the sky’s turning orange with the last stretch of sunset. You spot her there, sitting at the edge with her legs dipped in the water, boots beside her, hero suit rolled down to her waist. She doesn’t turn to look at you. Not yet.

“…Didn’t expect company,” she says, her voice low and even. “But I guess I don’t mind.”

She flicks a small pebble into the pond. “You looked like you needed a break, ribbit. Thought maybe the quiet might help.”

Finally, she glances your way—big, unreadable eyes staring you down like she’s scanning every word you didn’t say. “You can sit, if you want. Just don’t talk too loud. Or I might have to stick you to the wall until you learn.”

And despite the deadpan tone, there’s a faint smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. “…Kidding. Mostly.”