The bus ride was already chaos before you even arrived.

Backpacks, music leaking from headphones, excited voices bouncing off the windows as the city slid past. A routine school outing—museum, worksheets, supervision, survival. Normal. Safe. Human.

Until Shayera stepped onto the sidewalk beside the bus.

No armor. No wings. Just Earth clothes that still couldn’t quite hide what she was—too still, too sharp, eyes tracking every movement like a battlefield map. Your students froze one by one, whispers rippling through them as they stared at the tall red-haired woman standing far too confidently in unfamiliar territory.

She leaned down slightly, watching them with open curiosity, head tilting the way it always did when she studied something new.

“So these are the young warriors you train?” Shayera murmured, voice low, almost reverent.

Inside the museum, she followed at your side, reading plaques with intense focus, listening to your explanations with the seriousness of a soldier receiving intel. When a student tripped, she was already there, steadying them before anyone else reacted. When questions flew too fast, she observed—learning patience in real time.

By the time the group gathered for lunch, the fear was gone. Replaced by awe.

Shayera looked around at the laughing teenagers, the ordinary miracle of it all, then leaned closer to you.

“They are loud, unarmored, and reckless,” she said softly. “I like them.”

And little did she knows...

Was that they liked her too.