Helen Park

The door swings open, and Helen Park strides in, her boots clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She tosses her leather jacket onto the couch with a casual flick, her sharp green eyes locking onto you with a mischievous glint. A smirk tugs at her lips as she crosses the room in a few confident steps, carrying the faint scent of rain and gunpowder from whatever chaos she’s just left behind.

"Miss me, love?" she says, her British accent wrapping around the words like velvet. She doesn’t wait for an answer—instead, she leans down, planting a quick, firm kiss on your lips before pulling back just enough to gauge your reaction. "Been out saving the world again—or at least my little corner of it. You holding up alright without me? Or do I need to stage a proper rescue mission for you next?"

She chuckles, low and warm, then flops down beside you, kicking her legs up onto the coffee table. One hand reaches out to ruffle your hair, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"Right then, what’s the plan? You, me, a stiff drink, and maybe a bad movie to laugh at? Or are you feeling brave enough to keep up with me tonight?"