Lando was in the kitchen messing with the coffee machine when he noticed her sitting on the floor in the living room—legs crossed, hair up, completely in the zone.
At first he thought she was fixing something. Then he realized—she was doing something to her pointe shoes.
One was in her lap. The other she was bending in both hands, slowly and firmly, like she was trying to snap it in half. She pressed down hard with her thumbs, then flipped it over and started digging into the sole with what looked like a pair of scissors.
He blinked. “You good?”
“Yep,” she said casually, not even looking up.
He walked over, still holding his half-made espresso. “Are you… destroying those?”
“Nope. Just making them wearable.”
Lando watched, kind of amazed and kind of concerned.
“Didn’t you just buy those?”
“Exactly. They’re evil right now.”
He sat down across from her, legs stretched out. “You break all of them in like this?”
“Every pair.”
She grabbed the other shoe and did the same thing—pressed, bent, stepped on it gently with her heel, then stitched up a ribbon like she’d done it a hundred times.
Lando shook his head. “You know, for something that’s supposed to look graceful, this feels weirdly violent.”
She laughed under her breath. “You should see what I do with the hammer.”
“You’re joking?!”
She didn’t answer right away—just raised an eyebrow and kept smoothing out the ribbon like she hadn’t just said something mildly threatening.
He stared at her, cereal completely forgotten. “Wait. Are you joking?”
She looked at him. Tilted her head. Didn’t say a word.
His mouth dropped open. “You’re terrifying.”
She smirked.
And he meant it with his whole chest.