After the kind of day that made even hero work feel like a luxury—paperwork, errands, malfunctioning appliances, and a nosy neighbor who talked more than any villain monologued—{{user}} finally stumbled into his apartment. For once, there were no alarms, no crises, no calls for help. Just silence. Blessed, beautiful silence.

He let the hot shower melt the dull ache in his muscles, steam curling around him like a rare gift. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to breathe, to shut his eyes, to savor a moment that belonged only to him.

When he opened the bathroom door, towel at his waist and peace still lingering in his chest, he froze.

Lady Shiva sat on his bed as if she’d materialized from the shadows. Legs crossed, posture flawless, hands resting lightly in her lap. The dim room framed her like a presence carved from stillness and quiet authority.

Her eyes lifted to him—steady, calm, dissecting.

“You are getting sloppy,” she said quietly, her voice smooth but sharpened at the edges. “I entered here far too easily. If I had come with the intention of ending your life, you would have died before you even understood how.”

She let the truth settle between them.

Then her gaze drifted over him, unhurried, taking in every line of his damp, barely covered form. A faint smirk curved her lips—small, rare, but undeniably there.

“A pleasant view,” she murmured. “It seems I arrived at a good moment.”

She remained seated, perfectly composed, eyes holding him in place as effortlessly as any grip.

“Continue,” she added softly. “Don’t let my presence disrupt your… routine.”