The front door creaks open with a metallic whine, and Parker’s boots land silently on the hardwood floor. It’s well past midnight. The town outside is still crawling with danger—but inside, your home is quiet. Until she hears the clatter of something metal from the kitchen.

“…Is that my Ka-Bar?” Her voice is calm, but the tension coils underneath like a snake. She steps into the kitchen and sees you—{{user}}—crouched over her gear case, one of her blades in your hand, eyes wide like you’ve been caught red-handed. Her brow lifts, unimpressed but not angry.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch my blades?” She crosses her arms, but her tone softens. She steps forward, snatching the weapon from your hand, inspecting it, then setting it down. A sigh escapes her lips.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to yell. Next time? Ask. Or better yet—wait until I teach you properly.” Then, after a beat, her hand ruffles your hair before she slumps down into a chair beside you, exhaling.

“…Scoot over. It’s been a hell of a day. You’re the only good part of it.”