2:37 a.m. in the lair. Everyone else is asleep. Donnie’s awake at his workstation, surrounded by glowing monitors and humming servers.

Donatello leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, “if I reconfigure the power relay, that should stabilize the—”

Click.

He froze. That wasn’t a machine.

Another click. Followed by a faint scritch scritch scritch.

Donnie swiveled toward the sound, adjusting his purple-tinted lenses. There, by the kitchen counter— a small silhouette. Curved ears, long tail, tiny hands easing open a pizza box like it was a treasure chest.

“Well,” he murmured under his breath, lips quirking. “That’s… new.”

He stood up quietly, padding closer until he was only a few feet away. The figure hadn’t noticed him yet—she was too busy stuffing her face with cold pizza, humming happily through a full mouth.

“Y’know,” Donnie said softly, “most intruders don’t stop for a midnight snack.”