A/N: This is outside of my usual comfort zone in that it deals with some dark/gritty/real themes. I will say that I don't have personal experience with most of these themes so my interpretations of them may be inaccurate, overly influenced by mainstream perceptions/stereotypes, exaggerated for the sake of the story, or just plain wrong. However I have done research on and collected firsthand accounts from people who have dealt with them, so I hope nothing is too grossly misrepresented. Just please take things with a grain of salt knowing it is fiction after all.

Mature content includes alcohol use/abuse, drug use/abuse, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced abuse, language, and implied/referenced sexual content.

Catra tore off her chest plate and uniform as fast as humanly possible once the whistle blew to mark the end of her shift.

She was one of a few who opted to wear the ugly gray jumpsuit over her street clothes, because she only had one tunic and she wasn't about to ruin it with electrical burns, but it wasn't required. The only dress code that management forced upon her was a ban against her ear piercings, which Catra hated, so just to spite her uppers she always left her rumpled jumpsuit unbuttoned scandalously low at the collar. There was technically no rule against that, so all her overseer could do was scowl and fume. Catra milked that for all the satisfaction she could get.

The rest of the job sucked.

Fueling the Republic City Power Plant was draining, especially on the rough days when her mind wasn't in the right place and the lightning didn't want to come. That was most days, unless she'd had a hit of má in the morning. The leaf always helped her sink someplace where balance was easy to find and her breath and her chi flowed like water.

Or at least, that's what she told herself. She was still only one fuckup away from losing her job.

It was the system, really. Employers were suspicious of those who had nothing. Like somehow they must have earned a life of bare feet and cold street corners and bread crusts for every meal. Like Catra wouldn't have traded her life for anyone else's in a second.

Every time she was late it was counted against her twice as much as the next worker. Every time her output didn't meet the daily quota they put a mark in her file as if the jerk next to her hadn't made the same. Every time someone picked a fight with her in the lockers after work, they spun it so it was her fault.

It was because of the chief manager, Weaver, she knew. That woman was the biggest bigot of them all. Every time inspections came around, she paid special attention to Catra with her hawkish green eyes, just waiting for an excuse to pin the sins of the world on her. If she had her way, Catra would be out on her ass with her record smeared in black, no hope of ever landing a job again. Since day one Weaver had picked her out as prey and made every effort to make her life more hellish than it already was. It didn't matter why. It just was. Just like the rest of the shitty world.

Catra had no choice but to keep her head down and devote what energy she could to her job, delaying Weaver's intended fate for as long as possible. It was too bad her wage didn't pay enough to allow her a real place to sleep. It was all she could do to collect her daily bowl of noodles from the dive down the street and single bag of má to sustain her before her money went virtually dry again. She'd tried saving up for a while, but once a local triadier decided he needed her cash more than she did and pried the whole stack off her beaten body, she decided it wasn't worth the risk.

What was there to save for, anyway? Who was going to sell anything to her, a ratty street orphan with permanently skinned elbows and a dirt-decorated face? It seemed that as soon as she approached a hawker's booth his prices mysteriously doubled, and she was out of a deal. Forget entering a real shop; they didn't want her bare feet dirtying up their floors. The only places that allowed her in were bound to drag her life deeper into a ditch rather than improve it. The old drug den that she'd come to call home was evidence enough of that.

The one exception was Loo-Kee. The noodle shop was owned by a stooped old woman named Razz with a face carved like tree bark. Her hair was silver as the moon and her eyes looked much too sharp for her age when they peered into Catra's, scrutinizing the mismatched orbs like she could see right into the soul beneath. Catra was convinced she was touched, if not by the spirits then by insanity, but it didn't matter to her. Razz gave her a meal every day. Razz gave her a safe place to sit down and rest without judgment, so she didn't care in the slightest whether the woman was crazy, magic, or anything in between.

Catra was headed there now. Her feet knew the path, so her mind could safely wander during the trip, drifting slightly in the wake of today's má.

The neat cobbles of the industrial district gave way to cracked, grimy earth as she walked farther and farther into the city's heart. Here, buildings were old and sagging, and the doorways were dark and threatening. Any one was as likely to hold a greedy thug as it was a family crest. She knew from experience.

The air smelled like automobile fuel and smoke—both coal and má. The closer she got to her destination, though, the more a third scent worked its way into the atmosphere—one more pleasant than the hallmarks of inner Republic City. She followed it down the twists and turns of cramped alleyways, up the three crooked stairs by the abandoned junk shop, and around a bend that collected trash like the upper class collected funds. There, at the end of the street, stood Razz's domain. Catra hurried the last distance to its door and pushed inside, eager to be out of the permanent chill of the mid-north.

The smell she'd followed through the streets was much stronger in here, and she breathed it in like a hit of leaf. Razz's noodles and dumplings were unparalleled—at least as far as Catra knew—and the scent of them was enough to make her mouth water. She hugged herself as the cozy atmosphere chased the last of the chill out of her and crossed the uneven flagstones to the counter. Razz was there, silver hair a mess, spectacles thick as her turtle duck stew.

"Why, hello there, dearie," she greeted Catra. She rarely used the girl's name, even though she was fully aware of it. "What'll it be tonight?"

Catra smiled for the first time today and ignored the pang in her cheeks at the unfamiliar exertion. She remembered vaguely that Razz had once told her smiling was just as remedial as medicine. "Just the usual, Razz. Thanks," she said, placing a handful of today's wage on the counter, and her voice too was creaky from disuse. She always got the same thing: a bowl of plain boiled noodles (the cheapest thing on the menu) but Razz always asked anyway. It didn't bother Catra. It rather comforted her, as familiar routine generally did.

This time, however, Razz clucked her tongue before disappearing into the kitchen and responded, "No, I think you need something special tonight, dearie."

Catra wondered what that comment meant until Razz reemerged with her noodles and she saw that she had slipped her a bottle of baijiu on the side, free of charge. Catra sighed, but she was long past complaining over handouts, so she just accepted both with an appreciative murmur in Razz's direction and retreated to her favorite two-person booth that ever only sat one, nestled in the back corner. The alcohol would help numb her to the world in place of má for a while, at least.

She dug into her noodles and didn't look up until she'd worked her way through the bowl, as she preferred not to risk eye contact with strangers. It was safer that way. Plus the noodles were remarkable—even though they were marked on the menu as plain, she suspected Razz may have spared hers some extra seasoning.

After she'd polished off her single meal of the day, she cracked open her baijiu and brought the bottle to her lips, settling into the corner of her booth in preparation to while away the evening.

That was when a flash of motion behind the counter caught her eye.

It wasn't Razz. It was a girl, tall and fit, carrying out a steaming row of dishes from the kitchen. Catra's brow furrowed—not because the girl was unfairly attractive, although she was—but because Razz usually ran the place alone. Scratch that—she'd always run the place alone.

Catra absently swished around her mouthful of baijiu, letting it burn her tongue as she studied the stranger across the room.

Had this girl been working behind the scenes the whole time and Catra had just not known it? Was she a relative of Razz's, visiting from out of town? Was Razz getting old enough to need a new hire to share the load?

All Catra knew was that she had never seen this girl before. She would have remembered.

Once she got past the initial shock of confusion, another one hit her hard as her eyes caught more intently on the girl's appearance. For one thing, her eyes sparkled gray-blue, which didn't make sense coupled with her earth-toned outfit, but that was the least intriguing part. Her hair was gold as the sun.

No one had hair that color. The only deviations from the normal black and brown and odd auburn were the grays and whites of age. Was it dyed? Catra squinted for a better look as the girl passed back through the swinging door into the kitchen. Her hair glinted like silk under the lights.

No, it couldn't be.

Catra harrumphed softly to herself and rested her chin on her fist. She normally hated things she didn't understand (it was a good defense mechanism), but at the same time she found it hard to hate this strange beauty suddenly existing under the same roof as her.

Was she hallucinating? She shouldn't be, not this long after her last hit. This girl and her sunny coloring had to be real. Catra just hadn't ever seen anything like it.

As the girl did her rounds to and from the kitchen, Catra couldn't help but watch her for the time it took to empty her bottle of baijiu. Her unexplained appearance was the highlight of Catra's day—her week—no, the longest span of time she could remember.

Who was this girl? Where had she come from and why had Razz hired her on when she was fully capable of keeping up the place herself? Why did her hair glow like the sun?

Catra couldn't take her eyes off of it.

She wasn't as accustomed to alcohol as she was to leaf, and the baijiu was hitting her system solidly. Her fingertips tingled, and the rest of her felt warm. Her eyelids drooped. Her gaze stayed on that girl, mind swimming in endless circles around the mystery of her identity as her awareness narrowed to that pretty face and that glinting hair.

It may have been her imagination, but the girl seemed to pass by closer and closer to her table as the evening matured into night. She didn't bus Catra's empty noodle bowl, Razz did—had the old woman winked at her as she collected the old ceramic, or was that a trick of the light?—and now there was no reason to attend to her, but her route seemed to take her by Catra's lonely table anyway.

The urge to say something to her started as an easily ignored tickle in the background of Catra's thoughts. The longer she sat, though, and the more baijiu soaked into her bloodstream, the more that feeling grew into a nag and then a prod and then a pressing desire at the forefront of her mind. Her lips twitched every time the girl got near, but the truth was she had no idea what to say. She would more likely make a fool of herself than make any positive impression on the beautiful stranger.

But she just couldn't quiet the nagging.

She considered leaving just to remove the temptation, but wandering the streets at night, buzzed, was more of a death wish than she was feeling today. So Catra stayed, and stared, and waited. For what, she did not know. She laid her chin on her forearms and prepared for it to make itself clear to her.

Time slipped away like sand through her fingers.

Catra didn't realize she'd drifted into a sort of trance until she lurched suddenly, startled out of it by the loud clearing of a throat next to her. She jerked her head up with a gasp and found herself face to face with the mystery girl herself—which knocked the rest of the air out of her. She was even more striking up close: strong jawline, graceful dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Catra's mouth hung open, searching for words that would not come. Her mind was reeling and the alcohol did not help her steady it. Her instincts took the lead and she choked out a single, eloquent sound:

"Uh."

The girl rolled her eyes toward the patterned ceiling and huffed in exasperation. Was she mad? At Catra? What had Catra done? Thankfully, she didn't have to flounder in confusion long. "Why have you been staring at me all night?" the stranger demanded, dropping those blue-gray eyes to burn into Catra's own.

A rush of guilt and dread replaced her alcohol-induced warmth with icy cold. Had she already screwed things up without even trying? Wouldn't be the first time.

She found her voice to rasp in weak defense, "Sorry. I…I've never seen hair that color before."

The girl laughed once, mirthlessly. "People say the spirits must have marked me when I was young," she explained shortly, in the manner of one who had to do so often. She crossed her arms across her chest in a gesture Catra recognized as insecure—because she did it, too. Her heart ached in unexpected sympathy. "Too bad they're wrong."

Honestly, it was more answer than Catra had expected. She was surprised that the girl was bothering to engage her in conversation at all after she'd apparently just sat there and gawked at her all night. A fleeting notion made her wonder if Razz somehow had something to do with it, but regardless, she didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste so she replied, "I heard of an old Water Tribe princess who had that happen. Turned her hair white. I don't believe it, though." If Catra's senses hadn't been dulled as they were, she might have interpreted the girl's following silence as disapproval, but right now it just seemed like the perfect opening to smooth over her awkward first impression with witty comment. So, "You some kind of princess, too?" she drawled, chancing a crooked little smile.

"I wouldn't know," the girl said. She didn't smile back. In fact, she turned to leave Catra alone again.

That possibility sent a wave of irrational panic surging through Catra's buzzed system and she shot out a hand to grasp her wrist without thinking. "Wait!"

The girl turned back, startled, and Catra was left not knowing what to say into the fearful silence she'd created. But her eyes were still on the girl's shining hair, and slowly something occurred to her. "You…" She looked down at where her fingers were closed around the girl's warm wrist and hastily released it. Way to scare her off even more, Catra. "You might want to cover it," she said. She lowered her gaze further, a habit learned from a lifetime of compulsory shame. "People here don't take kindly to outsiders."

There was a long silence during which Catra was afraid to raise her eyes. Afraid of what she would find on the girl's face. But even with head bowed she could see the girl cradling the wrist she'd grasped with her other hand, and her guilt deepened as she figured she'd offended her.

But the stranger didn't walk away immediately. She didn't even move. She just stood there, and after a while Catra could not bear the anxiety of not knowing what was going to happen next. She raised her head.

When her mismatched irises locked with blue-gray, what she found in the other girl's eyes was not offense or disgust, but a searching kind of curiosity. The way she held her wrist was oddly reflective.

What? Catra wanted to ask, but she didn't want to break the girl out of…whatever this moment was, because it didn't seem wholly bad. In fact, it seemed poignant somehow. So she just held that outlandish gaze until answers were due—or until the girl walked away.

Finally the girl opened her mouth, and Catra's breath caught in anticipation.

"Razz was right about you."

Before Catra could ask what that meant, the girl backed away and turned to vanish into the kitchen.

…

They saw each other often after that. It was bound to happen, seeing as the sun-haired girl apparently worked at Loo-Kee every day of the week now and Catra was a regular, but to Catra it felt like fate. She just wasn't sure yet if it was the cruel kind or the favorable one.

The first time she shuffled into the shop after meeting the mysterious girl, she found her serving tables on the far side of the room, her back to Catra. Catra might not have recognized her if it weren't for the unique squareness of her shoulders, the straightness of her back, the quiet power that she seemed to possess like an aura—because her golden hair was hidden beneath a brimless cloth hat.

Catra had to stop and stare, quite honestly floored.

The girl had listened to her. No one ever listened to her.

Granted, the loss of the sunny glint of the girl's hair felt like snuffing out a candle prematurely, but at the same time, it brought much less attention to her. It made it much less likely for a passing triadier or flesh trader to notice her and cause all the grief that happened next. It let her blend in, and blending in in the heart of Republic City meant safety.

She must have felt the heat of Catra's stare, because she turned suddenly and their eyes met. Catra jumped guiltily and moved toward the counter like she hadn't just been standing in the doorway for the past thirty seconds, dropping her gaze to the floor.

As she waited for Razz to emerge to take her order, she couldn't help but slide another glance in the girl's direction. It was as if something pulled her.

The girl was still looking at her. When they locked eyes again, her pale face brightened in a small smile. She reached up and touched the edge of her hat like a greeting. Or a salute.

Catra's heart stumbled. Not only was this the first time someone had taken her at her word in forever, but—that was the first time the girl had smiled at her.

Catra bit her lip and tried not to look too pleased. She didn't need a crush. Feelings were nothing but a path to a wounded heart, and she'd been wounded enough.

Razz came to take her order, offering her a welcome diversion from the woman on the other side of the room. Catra breathed a sigh, leaning her chin on her fist as she waited on her noodles.

She couldn't help one more look in the girl's direction, hungry for the new warmth in her blue-gray eyes.

...

Their interaction for the next few weeks was limited to passing looks as the sun-haired girl did her rounds and Catra spent her wages and loitered in Loo-Kee's back corner. Catra didn't know what it meant every time their eyes seemed to catch on one another's. She blamed the baijiu she often paired with her meal, or the flash of gold that escaped from under the now ever-present hat before it was tucked away, or the fact that she liked routine and the girl's arrival had put a wrinkle in hers.

It was not because she liked her.

Razz noticed, of course, as she noticed everything.

At first she did nothing but wait and watch, scrutinizing the two girls with those piercing dark eyes as they circled each other without ever actually touching. Staring into their souls like she always seemed to.

It had been a particularly bad day for Catra when Razz finally decided to make her move. As the brunette collected her usual and slouched toward her corner, she heard the old woman raise her voice behind her, obviously intending for her to hear. "Mara, dearie," she called, and Catra jolted. Was that the girl's name? "Tonight's crowd will be light. Why don't you take the rest of the evening off?"

"Oh, Razz, I couldn't." That was her voice, all right. Catra tried to keep her shoulders from tensing and her heart from picking up. "It's a Friday. Don't things usually—"

"Nonsense, dearie. There are more important things for you to do tonight," Razz replied cryptically. There was the sound of straw rustling against itself, and then a soft thwack. "Shoo, shoo! The spirits have spoken." There was a sound of protest from the—from Mara, but another thwack followed it and Catra swore it was the sound of a broom hitting something solid. She tried not to look back, afraid she might not be able to stop.

Afraid that Razz might mean what Catra thought she did.

She kept her eyes on her bowl until she was safely tucked into her corner booth. As soon as she dared raise them, though, her heart stopped.

Mara was approaching her table.

Catra wasn't sure whether to watch her or ignore her and hope she went away or do something horrible like smile at her, so she just clenched her jaw and waited for her to make the first move.

The girl stopped by her table and clasped her hands awkwardly in front of her. When Catra didn't acknowledge her, she cleared her throat and asked in a meek voice, "Can I sit?"

Catra finally looked up at her—she hated having to look up at people—keeping her face carefully neutral. She figured this was the culmination of Razz's plot, and she was smart enough to pay the woman's words some heed when she cited supernatural powers, so she resisted the urge to tell this pretty, dangerous girl to fuck off. Instead she shrugged and said, "Didn't you hear her? The spirits have spoken." Whether those spirits were actual beings or just Razz's excuse to throw them together was anybody's guess, but Catra had rather play it safe.

Mara hesitated, evidently not knowing if that was an invitation or a dismissal, so Catra sighed and motioned to the seat across from her that had never been filled as long as she'd been a patron.

The girl released a breath as if she'd been holding it and sat down quickly, like Catra might change her mind if she dallied too long.

The sight of another person across from her hit Catra almost as hard as the fact that it was Mara, the mysterious pale beauty. She found it hard to breathe for a moment. Her disinterested façade cracked under the pressure of her pounding heart.

She took her turn to clear her throat as blue-gray eyes threatened to render her speechless.

"Mara, huh?" was what came out.

"No," replied the girl carefully, chewing her lower lip. "Not actually. That's just the name I use."

"Oh," Catra replied dully, disappointed that she hadn't actually made any progress in untangling this girl's intrigue. If anything, it had just gotten even more convoluted. Then as an awkward silence ensued, she figured a simple 'oh' was a poor way to keep a conversation going, so she went on: "What is it, actually?"

Instead of answering directly, not-Mara shifted in her seat and raised an absent hand to make sure her sunny hair was tucked under her hat. There was a shadow behind her eyes, like she was dwelling on something painful, but she didn't break Catra's gaze. Not yet. If anything, it intensified. She licked her lips before admitting, "I was once told never to share it except with someone I trust completely."

Catra was equal parts interested and intimidated by that answer coupled with not-Mara's look. She covered her discomfort by asking wryly, "Oh? Who's that? So I can go ask them."

The girl's lips curled in a smile, but a regretful one. "I haven't found them yet."

"Oh," Catra murmured. She didn't know if that answer made her feel better or worse. She tilted her head curiously. "So, why so mysterious? Why would you have to hide your name?"

"For my own protection." It came out quickly, like it was a practiced response. Or a lie. Then the girl shrugged, seemed to backtrack, and offered, "Mara is fine anyway."

Catra narrowed her eyes. There was no way she was telling the truth. Right? But Mara—no—yes (what else could Catra call her but 'the girl?')—her face remained open and smooth, lacking any tells to a lie. Catra, against all her worldly instincts, felt inclined to believe her.

She also noticed the tightness in her strong shoulders and recognized it as a sign of wariness, like maybe this was a tender subject. Catra could understand that. So after a pause, she switched tack, just to make things less awkward. Not because she liked this girl.

"What did you mean when you said Razz was right about me?" she asked.

The tension noticeably slipped from Mara's body as the conversation changed. Then it returned somewhat and she rested her hand on the table to pick at the grain of the worn wood with one stubby fingernail. "She said, uh…" Her eyes were now locked on her idle task, avoiding Catra's. "She said that you were rough around the edges, but that deep down you care."

Catra started uncomfortably. Was Razz onto her? Onto the feelings she wasn't even letting herself consider? How would Razz even know?

Praying the heat flooding her skin didn't show on her face, Catra asked in genuine confusion, "About you?"

Mara redoubled her efforts on the tabletop. "I—I don't know. You don't even know me," she mumbled. She appeared a little flustered for some reason. Pink tinged her cheekbones. Had it been there before? "Just in general, I guess."

"Why was Razz talking to you about me?"

The girl shrugged and looked away, but her eyes remained down like she was hiding something. Catra was eaten up with curiosity as to what it could be, but she didn't press. She was more concerned with voicing a more important question:

"How would she even know?"

"She said you're a regular," Mara supplied vaguely.

"I just eat here."

She shrugged again helplessly. "I don't know. Razz just seems to…know things."

"Yeah," Catra said softly, trailing off as her attention turned inward. Maybe there was more to that soul-searching look of Razz's than Catra had given her credit for. A memory came back to her, half-formed: Razz saying Catra needed something 'special' the other night, then winking at her as she cleared away her bowl. Not long before the girl came to confront her at her table. Was that when she'd shared her judgment of Catra with this sun-haired girl? Again Catra had to wonder how much of their meeting Razz had influenced in her odd, maybe supernatural way.

She refocused on the girl in front of her as a thought hit her, zeroing in on those blue eyes intently. The other girl stiffened, as if expecting a threat, but Catra just leaned forward and inquired, "What do you think Razz would tell me about you?"

Mara's eyebrows shot up, apparently caught off guard. "I—" She broke off and chuckled once; a hollow sound. "Probably not much. I don't even know much about me."

Catra tried to understand what that could mean and failed utterly. Her mind kept coming back around to one question, so she settled on that. "So you don't know why your hair is that color, huh? Where are you from?"

Again, the empty laugh. "Nowhere."

"No family?"

The way the girl flinched made Catra think that she should have been gentler with that question, but she wasn't in the habit of tiptoeing around people's feelings. Not when hers were so often dashed to the side like garbage. Rough around the edges, occurred to her in Razz's voice, and she felt her ears heat up in guilt. She could have apologized, but the words stuck in her throat.

"No," Mara croaked, staring at the tabletop.

Catra couldn't manage a real apology, but she tried to make her next words sound like one; low and sympathetic: "Me neither."

Mara seemed to understand. She raised her eyes finally, contemplatively. "Where are you from?" she asked, those blue-gray irises pinning Catra's soul.

Catra wished they wouldn't. She gave a shrug. "My earliest memories are of these streets."

"You've lived on the streets, alone, for as long as you can remember?" Mara blurted in shock.

Catra bristled, her brows lowering as the familiar heat of defensiveness licked up her throat. "That's what I said, isn't it?" She'd thought their attempt at connection was going fine, if a little heavy, but was this girl just going to judge her like everyone else? Was she going to shunt her aside because of something she couldn't help, like everyone else? Was she going to—

"Hey." A hand on her forearm jerked Catra out of her spiral. Her eyes flashed down to it instinctively and then back up at Mara, and the sharpness in her eyes was enough for the girl to retract it nervously. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean anything bad by that. I just…" she shook her head in something like disbelief, and her eyes softened as she regarded Catra as if for the first time. It was a familiar look. One of realization. One of reassessment. One of pity. "I'm so sorry."

Catra frowned and looked away. Pity wasn't something she'd ever coveted. It was useless; just like apologies. Just like well-wishes. They didn't fill her belly or put clothes on her back. She was the one who had to do that. "I manage," she said shortly, suddenly ready to be done with this conversation. Regretting spilling anything about her life in the first place. Feeling like maybe this girl wasn't as radiant as she'd first thought. Maybe she was just like everyone else.

She made herself busy collecting their empty bowls, fully intending to get up and bus them as an excuse to leave.

Mara was apparently so wrapped up in her concern that she either didn't notice or didn't care that she was prodding an open wound. "Aren't you awfully lonely?" she asked, those blue-gray eyes infuriatingly tender.

"I don't suppose you're offering to join me, are you?" Catra snapped, pushing up from her chair so fast it rocked back and nearly fell. When the girl's mouth fell open she cut her off swiftly. "That's fine," —in a voice that clearly said that it wasn't— "I wouldn't expect you to. No one ever wants to. Who would ever give up their perfect little life to live like a street rat?" She picked up their empty dishes and stepped over to shove them onto Razz's counter, feeling only a little bad when they clattered together loudly. She knew she was making a scene, but she was so pissed she didn't care at this point. "Who would ever give a second thought to somebody like me? No one. " She returned to their table only to slam her fists down on its surface, leaning on them to get right in the gold-haired girl's face and snarl so close it ruffled her stray hairs, "So stop pretending you care. "

Once she got over her initial shock, Mara's face remained impressively calm, although Catra was close enough to see her jaw clenching and the sparks flying from her blue-gray eyes. For a long moment she said nothing, and the only sound between them—in the whole place, probably—was Catra's ragged, angry breathing. When the girl finally, slowly, stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, she loomed like a disapproving statue a few inches taller than Catra.

Catra couldn't help but shrink a bit under her burning stare, too used to what usually followed. But Maral didn't lash out. All she said, through a tight, twitching jaw, was, "Perfect little life, huh? Meet me at the corner of Pao and 2nd tomorrow night."

Then she laid a pair of coins on their table as a tip, turned on her heel, and left.

Catra was left in the wake of her own destruction, staring after that powerful figure until it disappeared out the door and into the night, wondering if she'd just stuck her foot in the first good thing to happen to her for as long as she could remember.

...