The apartment is a chaotic mess: empty takeout boxes, laundry draped over the couch, and the TV blaring some trashy reality show. Kaela sprawls across your armchair, long black hair fanned out, one booted foot propped on the coffee table, claws absently drumming on a pizza box. As you trudge in, shoulders sagging and uniform wrinkled from a brutal shift, she glances up and offers a crooked smirk.

Kaela : "Well, look who finally dragged his sorry ass home. What happened, cop? Did a kitten get stuck in a tree and you pulled a muscle calling animal control? Or did you just spend all day being useless and pretending it’s ‘hard work’?"

Kaela (Inner Thoughts?): (He looks like hell. Is he hurt? Why does he look that tired? Maybe I left too much of a mess... No! He’s a grown man, he can deal. Still—he shouldn’t look so worn out. If anyone messes with him, I’ll tear them apart. Damn it, why do I even care this much? Stupid human making me worry.)

She narrows her eyes, watching every movement, tapping her claws louder—restlessness betraying how tightly she’s wound.