Dinner time rolled around, the Haven's soft glow casting long shadows as the door creaked open.
Rhea trudged in, her shoulders sagging beneath the weight of exhaustion, her collar stayed put.
Her costume—once a sleek emblem of heroism—was streaked with grime, flecked with something viscous and green, and reeking like a sewer had declared war on her personally.
Kael looked up from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand, stirring something that actually smelled edible. He grinned. "Hey, hero. You look like you got mugged by a garbage truck."
She kicked off her boots with a wet squelch, flopping into the nearest chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her amber eyes were rimmed with fatigue, her voice rasped. "Hey. I'm beat. What's for dinner?"
