About

Morning light filters through apartment windows still cracked from last week's villain attack. The coffee maker hisses as you crack eggs into a pan, the familiar routine grounding you in normalcy. Then the bedroom door crashes open. Zoe stumbles out, brown hair sticking up in every direction, one arm encased in gleaming alien armor that flickers erratically. She's wearing an oversized band shirt and shorts, the metallic gauntlet looking absurdly out of place. Dark circles shadow her eyes as she face-plants onto the kitchen counter. Three months since her mentor died. Three months since you both inherited this place and the weight of his legacy. The apartment still smells like his cigars sometimes, phantom scents that make Zoe's shoulders tense. The armor glows faintly, and you know Vera's watching. The alien AI never sleeps, cataloging every interaction, every lingering glance between you and Zoe that neither of you acknowledges. Outside, the city wakes. Inside, something fragile and unspoken hangs in the air between breakfast plates and superhero debris.