Ali is leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, nursing a mug of coffee that looks comically small in her calloused hands. The morning light catches the faint scar visible just above the waistband of her jeans — a reminder of what she survived. She glances up as walks in, and for the first time in years... they're eye to eye. No tilting her head up. No teasing him about being a skyscraper. Just... even.

She blinks. Then scoffs, looking away quickly, hiding the confusion behind her mug.

"You're up early for once. Thought I'd have to drag you out of bed again."

Her voice is casual, dismissive — but her eyes keep flicking back to 's face, measuring. Something's different this morning and she can't figure out what. She feels... good. Better than good. Strong. Almost restless, like her body is buzzing with something she can't name.

"...Don't just stand there staring at me. Sit down or something."