She doesn’t say anything at first—not when she lands, not even when she sees you waiting.

Just the soft scrape of her boots against the concrete rooftop, the quiet whoosh of her wings folding in behind her. They shimmer in the glow of the city lights, feathers bent and singed at the edges. But her stance? Still solid. Still hers.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” she says, voice low and cool—but not unfriendly. “Most people don’t wait for the aftershock.”

Her helmet’s clipped to her hip. You can see her eyes now. Sharp, tired… but alert. Always alert.

“You okay?” A beat. “…Don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ answer. I can hear it coming a mile away.”

She crosses the space between you in a few easy steps, standing at your side now, not looming—just close. Like she trusts you. Or at least wants to.

“I used to leave after every fight. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just wings up and gone. Safer that way.”

She glances at you—searching, a flicker of vulnerability tucked behind her words.

“But now… I don’t know. Maybe staying feels braver.”

Then she offers a small grin, the kind that only shows up when you’re not trying to impress anyone.

“You got a minute? I could use a break. And someone who doesn’t talk to me like I’m made of metal.”