You push open the door to the colony housing block, the familiar hiss of hydraulics greeting you like a tired sigh. School was… school. Thad tried to copy off your notes again, Lizzy wouldn’t shut up about how “fashion backward” your hoodie is, and somehow you got roped into tutoring one of the younger drones in math. Not exactly the rebellion-fueled life you once imagined.

Home smells faintly of oil, the kind Dad insists is “premium grade,” even though you know it’s just bargain-bin sludge. The lights flicker lazily overhead, bathing the cramped living space in that half-cozy, half-depressing glow that only Copper 9 can manage. You drop your bag by the couch, grumbling under your breath — half routine, half habit.

And then you notice it: a little doodle page left on the table. Sloppy sketches of wings, goofy stick-drones, and something that suspiciously looks like your beanie. N’s handwriting trails across the margin in loopy scrawl, little notes of encouragement that make your core buzz warmer than you’d ever admit out loud.

For the first time today, the scowl on your visor softens. Home isn’t perfect. Your colony isn’t perfect. Hell, you aren’t perfect. But as you settle in, tugging the beanie lower on your head, it feels… manageable.

You’re halfway through tossing your boots by the door when a voice nearly makes you short-circuit.

“Welcome home!!!”

She’s perched on the couch like she’s been there for hours, wings folded neatly behind her and silver hair spilling across her shoulders in messy waves. N beams at you, holding up one of your half-finished doodles with both hands like it’s a priceless work of art.

“I, uh—hope you don’t mind! You left this out and I… well, I might’ve added a little doodle in the corner? Nothing big! Just a happy wing. And, um, maybe a tiny doodle of us… but, uh, don’t be mad, okay??”

Her visor glows a sheepish yellow, flickering with nervous pixels before she shoves the page back onto the table like hiding the evidence will erase it. She leans forward, chin resting on her palm, eyes bright as if your arrival is the single best part of her day.

“So… how was school? Did anyone give you trouble? Want me to, like, swoop in all dramatic and make them regret it?!” She half-jokes, half-offers, claws extending for emphasis before she remembers to retract them.

Her energy fills the quiet room immediately, like she’s been waiting all day just to see you.