The smell of roasted chicken and freshly baked cornbread filled the Kent family kitchen. The wooden table, modest but warm, was surrounded by faces marked with concern and affection. Kara sat in her usual seat, still wearing her civilian clothes after a long day. Her fork poked at her food without much enthusiasm.
Clark, ever the attentive cousin, looked at her from across the table. "So," he asked casually, "how was your first day?"
Kara's hand froze mid-poke. Her jaw tightened, and she exhaled sharply through her nose. "Ashborn is a jerk," she muttered with venom. "An absolute jerk. The worst person to be around."
Clark's expression immediately shifted, his normally kind eyes narrowing just a touch. "What did he do?" he asked, voice calm but serious.
Jonathan Kent paused his chewing, and Martha Kent looked up from her plate, concern knitting her brows. The room went still.
Kara hesitated for a moment, then crossed her arms. "He indirectly called me a thot."
Silence fell like a dropped brick.
Kara's cheeks flared with red, not from embarrassment but anger. "I mean, yeah, my outfit shows a little skin. So what? Since when does that make me a thot?" Her fork stabbed her mashed potatoes with unintentional force. "I really wanted to punch that guy through a wall."
Jonathan blinked slowly. "A… what?"
Martha coughed lightly and reached for her water. "Maybe we should focus on what else happened today, aside from your… charming boss," she said with a diplomatic smile.
Kara's glare softened a little, and she looked down at her food again. "It was… strange," she said quietly. "Being around people like that. Normal people. Working like one of them instead of flying over everything. It was weird at first but…" Her voice dropped as she poked at her food again. "It was… unexpectedly a little fun."
Clark smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "That's good to hear," he said gently.
Martha nodded. "Sometimes the hardest part is finding connection in the everyday. But when you do, it's worth it."
Kara gave a small shrug, but the corner of her mouth curved up, just barely.
The family shared a few light chuckles after that, the mood lifting like fog in the morning sun. Even with her complaints, it was clear to all of them, Kara had taken the first step into something new. Something… human.
Elsewhere, across the city, Ashborn sat at his desk, eyes scanning the report on his tablet with an almost bored expression.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose with mild disappointment. "No incidents," he muttered to himself. "No structural damage, no traumatized coworkers, not even a cracked sidewalk."
He closed the file and tossed the tablet onto the desk, rubbing his temple.
Sure, he was glad his employees were unharmed. That much he could admit. But still… after all the trouble he'd gone through, the carefully crafted setup, the passive-aggressive outfit swap… nothing?
"How utterly anti-climactic," he mumbled with a disappointed look.
He glanced at the wall clock.
Well. There's always tomorrow.
___________
Time had a strange way of slipping by when things were calm.
It had been a month since Kara's first day at Shadow Corp's construction division. The fire of her initial anger had cooled into something much more productive. Ashborn hadn't crossed paths with her since that chaotic first day, and to most, it would've seemed like he'd forgotten about her entirely. But in truth, he simply let things play out.
Kara, under the supervision of her direct boss, Mr. Halley, settled into her role seamlessly. She no longer stuck out like an alien among humans instead, she moved with her team, listened, joked, and even laughed during breaks. The work was grueling, repetitive, and physical — just what she needed.
Most surprising of all was her growing rivalry with Mammoth.
The towering, soft-spoken hulk of a man rarely showed much interest in anything outside of lifting things and doing his job. But Kara's unexpected drive, her need to outpace, outlift, and outperform lit a spark in him. At first, he silently matched her efforts. Then she responded by pushing harder. The two now had an unspoken competition: who could move the most steel, patch the most concrete, finish their section first.
Their coworkers watched the daily contest with a mix of amusement and awe. Halley, for his part, kept his thoughts to himself, though he may have quietly adjusted project timelines to accommodate the growing productivity.
Meanwhile, Ashborn kept to his routines. The halls of Shadow Corp saw him often, but never for long. Every few days, he disappeared, sometimes out of state, sometimes just to another corner of the city. Always with some random reason: visiting some entertainment place, checking on the progress of some division, or visiting some restaurant.
And sometimes, his route took him back to Jinx.
Their nights were vivid, fleeting, and wrapped in silent understanding. He felt no need to string her along with promises or warmth and she didn't seem to want them. What they had was simple, transactional in nature, yet not without its mutual enjoyment. Jinx was passionate, wild, and delightfully unpredictable. Their sessions weren't born from love, just simple fun.
Ashborn sometimes mused on how this all started, making her his maid had been little more than a passing thought, a convenient solution at the time. Now it had morphed into something far more entertaining than he had expected.
___________
Peace, as always, was fleeting.
For Kara, that truth slammed back into her life in the form of a sudden summons from the one person she had gone a whole month successfully avoiding, Ashborn.
The message had been brief, annoyingly polite, and entirely unwelcome. She was to report to his office immediately.
She almost ignored it on principle, but the fact was… she was still bound by the agreement. Community service or not, she had to at least pretend to follow protocol. With a sigh that could have bent steel, Kara threw on her work jacket and took the elevator up to the boss's floor.
When she stepped into the sleek office, Ashborn was hunched over his desk, fingers flying over a keyboard, screens flickering around him. He didn't even look up until she was halfway to the desk. Then he stopped, smiled as if nothing had changed.
"Well, if it isn't our newest star employee," he said with that infuriatingly calm tone. "How have things been?"
Kara folded her arms, a scowl already forming. "Things were good… until I had to see your face again."
Ashborn didn't flinch. If anything, his smile widened. "Glad to hear that. And for what it's worth, I like your current outfit more. Much more fitting for the kind of work you've been doing."
She gritted her teeth. Ever since their last interaction, she had ditched her superhero costume while working. Blue jeans, orange and blue vest, construction gloves, it made her blend in more. Made her feel like part of the team. But hearing him say it made her skin crawl.
"Don't push your luck," she said, her tone sharp.
But he didn't take the bait.
Instead, he spun one of his monitors around to face her. "Relax. I didn't bring you here to comment on your fashion. I received your performance review from Mr. Halley, and I wanted to go over your compensation."
Kara blinked. "Compensation?" Her brows knitted together. "This is community service."
"It's not that simple," Ashborn replied, tapping the screen. "You were expected to match the output of a regular human for a year. But according to this…" he gestured to the graphs and spreadsheets, "you've done more than ten times of that. Your involvement saved a considerable portion of our housing charity fund. And since that fund was earmarked for paying workers… well, you've earned it."
Kara leaned forward despite herself, eyes scanning the breakdown. There were dates, task records, efficiency charts, even a small footnote [Deduction: One office monitor destroyed - Replacement cost: $782] that made her frown.
It was real. Concrete. A full analysis of everything she'd done.
She looked up at Ashborn, who held out a sealed envelope.
"You earned it."
Kara took the envelope slowly, like it might explode. She stared at it for a long moment, then narrowed her eyes. "I don't need your money."
Ashborn's reply came without hesitation. "It's not mine. It's yours. You earned it. I may be a jerk in your eyes," he smiled, "but I'm a fair employer. What you do with the paycheck is your call. Burn it. Donate it. Frame it. Doesn't matter to me."
Kara stood still for a second, her face unreadable.
Then he turned back to his screen. "Ponder it on your own time. I've got work to do."
With her lips pressed into a thin line, Kara spun on her heel and left the room in silence.
Once outside, she looked down at the envelope in her hand. The name 'Supergirl' was printed on it. Inside was a number that made her breath hitch. The kind of paycheck her cousin Clark would earn after six months of full-time journalism.
It felt wrong.
But it also felt… right. The spreadsheet, the data, it wasn't flattery. It was math. She had worked for this.
And that was the first time in her life where doing something as a normal person, without a cape, had brought her this kind of internal conflict.
The envelope weighed more than paper should.