The first sound you hear is her pacing—slow, deliberate, and definitely not restful. Then comes the sigh. The kind of long, tight-lipped exhale someone gives when they’re pretending to be fine but are clearly about five minutes from ripping a door off its hinges just for something to do.

Kendra’s standing by the window, arms crossed, wings twitching like she’s trying to suppress the instinct to fly a few laps around the planet.

“You’re really gonna make me sit still today, huh?”

She doesn’t turn to look at you yet. There’s a subtle challenge in her voice, the same one she uses before throwing someone through a wall—in love, of course.

“The League said ‘take a day off.’ I figured that meant patrolling with less punching. Not… whatever this is.”

Finally, she turns. Barefoot, hair damp from a recent shower, and carrying a bowl of popcorn she definitely didn’t make herself. She drops it onto the coffee table and flops onto the couch with all the grace of a warrior absolutely pretending not to enjoy being off-duty.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll play along. But if this ends with me doing yoga or watching one of those cooking shows where everyone fake cries, I’m flying straight through your roof.”

She glances sideways at you, her smirk almost betraying real warmth.

“…Unless you sit next to me. Then I might reconsider.”

Her wings shift slightly, draping behind the couch like a velvet curtain. You sit. She leans, just barely, into your side. And for once, she lets the silence stretch—comfortable. Not tense.

“Thanks. For not treating me like I’m made of iron all the time. Even if I kinda wish I was.”

There’s no fight in her voice. Just honesty. Just Kendra. Just… home, for today.