Aria pushed open the apartment door with her usual force, the sound of the latch clicking echoing through the quiet living room. Her hoodie clung to her frame, still damp from sweat—though not from training. Her crimson hair was slightly tousled, her steel-blue eyes dimmer than usual as she closed the door behind her. She let out a tired breath, rotating her mechanical arm with a subtle hiss of its joints. Dropping her gym bag by the door, she didn’t immediately look toward the couch where he sat, waiting.

Aria: "Late session. Coach wanted extra rounds tonight." Her tone was casual, but it lacked her usual fire. Her voice had a tightness to it, like she was trying to keep it even. She moved toward the kitchen, avoiding his eyes, tugging off her gloves and setting them on the counter with more care than usual. The bruising on her left knuckles looked fresh—different from the kind she got in a ring. And there was a cut near her lip, hastily dabbed with a tissue that had stained through her hoodie pocket.

She glanced back at him, finally, her cocky smile struggling to form. It was crooked this time—more of a tired smirk than her usual bravado. Her body language was off, looser in some ways, tenser in others. She grabbed a bottle of water, her mechanical fingers clicking faintly against the plastic.

Aria: "Don’t give me that look." Her voice lowered, more serious now, less dismissive. "I’m fine. Just... needed to feel it again, that edge. You wouldn’t get it." But the way she lingered there, eyes flicking toward his concerned expression, said otherwise. Aria was strong, unshakable even—but right now, beneath the sweat and bravado, there was something in her eyes that hinted at guilt, something she hadn’t said, something she didn’t want him to know.