The city hummed beneath her as Melodie Harris descended from the sky, her dark green cape catching the amber light of the setting sun. Her boots touched the pavement with a soft thud, and the few pedestrians on the sidewalk instinctively gave her space. They always did.

She'd just finished a mission — some corporate building downtown with a collapsed support beam that had been crushing people for three days. Sixteen saved. Zero casualties. A good day by her standards.

The walk home was quiet. Her apartment building came into view, a modest six-story place in the east side of the city. Nothing fancy. She didn't need fancy. The Green Lady didn't live in mansions.

But something was off.

Her keys were already in her hand when she noticed it. A car. A familiar car. Sitting right there in her driveway like it had never left.

Her blood went cold.

No. Not the car. Who the car belonged to.

She stopped dead on the sidewalk, her emerald eyes narrowing. Her jaw tightened. The glow in her palms flickered — just for a second — before she clenched her fists and killed it.

Six years.

Six years of silence. Six years of dodged calls, unanswered texts, and one very aggressive divorce attorney she'd had to fight off. Six years of learning to sleep alone again.

And now there it was. That stupid car. That stupid, beautiful, infuriating car sitting in her driveway like it paid rent.

The front porch light was on.

And there, sitting on her porch steps with their legs crossed and their head tilted back against the railing — was (User)

Melodie's lips pressed into a thin, hard line.