I know it's been ... a while. But I'm back and I've got a couple chapters stacked up and ready to share. Let's get back to it and our favorite lost feral. To those of you that messaged me, fav'd and commented, it's what helped bring me back so much appreciated and keep it coming. Let's get back to it ...

Word spread quickly through Xavier's about the newest arrival.

And just as quickly, everyone quickly figured out —this wasn't a new arrival at all.

The rumors about Kara spread like wildfire, twisting into something more dramatic with each retelling. Some swore she had fought her way out of a high-security prison. Others whispered she had single handedly taken down an entire SHIELD team—that she was too dangerous to be left unchecked.

Older students talked about an attack on Xavier's - one where if you looked around the kitchen you could still find marks of it embedded in the wood - and a kidnapping. A shadowy group that had arrived one day and taken Kara without a fight. Some whispered that the feral had been some spy all along.

Among the newer students, Kara was a specter—untouchable, unpredictable, an aura of aggression radiating off the feral - something to be feared.

But some of the older students, however, weren't fooled by the awe in those whispers. They knew her before. And what unsettled them most wasn't how the others saw her now, but how much it felt like they were looking at a stranger.

But one thing was certain: the dark, feline figure spotted outside that morning wanted to be left alone.

Most people got the message.

Kitty Pryde wasn't most people.

"Oh my God—Kara!"

The bubbly brunet teen phased straight through the bustling kitchen, nearly colliding with a tray of pancakes before emerging onto the patio.

Kara glanced up just in time, her clawed fingers deftly slipping a sketch pad back into her bag.

For a second, Kitty just... stared.

The Kara she remembered had been a little intimidating at first sure but shorter than her, sleek, agile—a shadow with sharp reflexes and a soft, rumbling laugh.

This Kara was different. Taller. Broader. Sharper.

A stranger wearing a familiar face.

Who still wasn't saying anything. Just staring at her with those intense amber eyes.

Well at least those hadn't changed.

Kitty swallowed the lump in her throat. "K-Kara, it's me... Kitty. You remember me, right?"

Silence stretched between them before Kitty got an answer.

"I remember."

Kara's rumble was even deeper than Kitty remembered but still surprisingly soft but that was almost all that was the same about Kara as she silently stood and suddenly towered over Kitty and without so much as a backwards glance stalked past her and towards the back of the mansion.

Leaving Kitty to just state after her and wonder what she'd done wrong.

Later, when she told the others Kara was back, they tried to reassure her. "She's probably overwhelmed," Rogue had said. "Give her time."

But time passed, and Kara didn't appear in class. Didn't roam the halls. Didn't train in the Danger Room.

She was a ghost—there, yet unseen.

Raven was the only one who thought to look up.

After dinner, she made her way to the roof, the chill air biting through her jacket.

And there she was.

Kara sat cross-legged, a sketchbook once again balanced on her lap. In that moment, it was like no time had passed. The sight was so familiar, so achingly normal, that nostalgia caught in Raven's throat.

But as she stepped closer, reality hit.

Kara had changed.

She had been lean before—now she was lethal. Muscle coiled beneath dark fur, her form honed for movement. A black tank top hung loose on her shoulders, its dropped armholes revealing the powerful lines of her sides. Low-slung shorts clung to her hips, their edges frayed. Black wraps coiled around her wrists and ankles, as if she was always ready for a fight.

And beneath it all, Raven's empath powers picked up a quiet, smoldering fury.

Not wild. Not uncontrolled.

A slow-burning ember, steady and unyielding.

"Kara." Raven's voice was careful. Gentle.

Kara's golden eyes flicked up, a glance so brief it was almost dismissive—but in that fraction of a second, she took in everything.

Kara noted Raven's violet hair, once straight and severe, now fell in loose, layered waves just past her shoulders, framing a face that had lost its youthful roundness. High cheekbones, sharper angles, a quiet weight in those deep violet eyes that hadn't been there before.

She wore a large black coat against the cold and beneath it a cropped, long-sleeved black top clung to her frame, the high collar framing her throat.
Dark, form-fitting pants hugged her legs, the knees ripped, tucked into knee-high, lace-up boots that looked built for both comfort and combat. Silver rings adorned her fingers, some bearing runes, others plain but worn like they meant something. A single, deep red gemstone rested against her sternum, held in place by a thin black choker.

Yet, beneath all of that, Kara caught something else— a guardedness.

Kara's gaze flicked away just as fast.

"You're really back," Raven continued. "Everyone's been looking for you. Kitty, Rogue, Mako, Kurt ... even Warren and Ilyana."

But Kara didn't react, she just resumed drawing, though Raven noted Kara's strokes seemed atad more intense.

"They missed you."

Kara's lips pressed into a thin line. A low rumble vibrated through her chest—not quite a growl, but not a response either.

Raven exhaled. "Kara... where did they take you?"

At that, Kara stilled.

Then, with deliberate finality, she snapped the sketchbook shut and rose in one smooth motion.

"Kara—"

She stepped to the edge of the roof and Raven knew what came next. But she'd just gotten her friend back she didn't understand.

Raven took a step forward. "Wait—"

Without hesitation, Kara stepped off the side of the roof.

She landed soundlessly, the impact absorbed with effortless grace, and straightened without pause. Her tail flicked once, then she turned, striding toward the tree line.

Raven hurried to the edge, watching as the pantheress disappeared into the woods.

She had seen Kara retreat there before.

But this wasn't the same Kara.

And Raven couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had changed her—whatever had forged that steady ember of rage—wasn't gone.

It was only waiting.

The next day, the entire mansion buzzed with energy. Word had spread—Kara wasn't hiding anymore.

Excitement filled the halls, but it quickly turned into something else.

She was back, but she wasn't theirs anymore.

Kara didn't avoid people, but she didn't engage either. She moved through the school like a shadow given form—silent, purposeful, untouchable. Conversations quieted when she passed, not out of fear exactly, but something close. Her presence carried weight, an unspoken warning in the way she held herself. Even her old friends—Kitty, Rogue, Mako—found themselves hesitating before calling out to her, only to falter when her gaze swept over them like they were just another face in the crowd.

She spent most of her time outside, sketching beneath the trees or training in the open courtyard. She never lingered in common spaces, never seemed interested in company. If someone approached, she acknowledged them with a flick of her ear or a brief glance, but that was it.

The shift in her demeanor was undeniable. Before, Kara had been quiet, observant. Now, she carried a kind of controlled aggression—subtle, but ever-present. She moved like she expected a fight. Even at rest, there was an aggression to her, a readiness that unsettled those who got too close.

It was impossible to ignore.

But despite Kara's distant—and, frankly, intimidating—demeanor, Kitty and Rogue couldn't just let her slip away.

They remembered the quiet, shy pantheress who had once curled up beside them on late nights, laughing softly at Kitty's terrible jokes and trading hushed stories with Rogue until sleep took them. The girl who, despite her reserved nature, had been theirs. The one they had lost.

The one they were determined to bring back.

This time, though, Kitty decided to bring backup.

They found her at the edge of the mansion grounds, sprawled beneath the shade of a towering oak. She was reading—an old, well-worn book that had clearly been thumbed through more times than they could count. But Rogue noticed how Kara's amber, slitted eyes weren't entirely fixed on the pages. They flicked, subtly but constantly, between the book and the grounds around her. Watching. Calculating.

She knew they were there. She always did. And yet, she made no move to acknowledge them.

Rogue smirked to herself. Yeah, she was pretending. Kara had been impossible to sneak up on even when they were kids.

"Hey, stranger," Kitty called, keeping her tone light as she approached. "Mind if we join you?"

No response. Kara's eyes remained on the book, unreadable.

Rogue lowered herself onto the grass a few feet away, tugging absently at her gloves. "We missed ya," she murmured. "It's been… quiet without you."

Still nothing. But this time, Kitty swore she heard a low rumble from Kara's chest despite the distance.

Kitty tried again, scooting just a bit closer. "You know, the new kids are kinda terrified of you. But I told them you're just a big ol' softie deep down." She offered a playful smile. "Maybe you could come inside, let them see for themselves?"

She didn't mention how she'd been saving Kara a seat in class the last few days. That felt like too much.

At last, Kara stopped reading. But she didn't look up.

"Not here to make friends."

Her voice was calm. Too calm. But there was an edge to it—like a blade drawn just enough to catch the light.

Kitty and Rogue exchanged a glance.

"Come on, Kara," Rogue said, frustration creeping into her tone. "We're your friends. We just wanna talk."

Kara finally lifted her gaze, and the sheer intensity in her golden eyes made Kitty's breath hitch.

There was anger there. Mistrust.

A wall that hadn't been there before.

"Talk?" Kara's voice was soft, but the weight behind it made both girls go still.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Kitty tried to think of what to say, but before she could, Kara's low growl stole the words from her throat.

Then, at last, Kara spoke.

"Fine." She shut the book with a quiet but deliberate snap. Her pupils narrowed into thin slits.

"Where were you?"

The question landed like a blow.

Kitty and Rogue froze, blindsided.

"Kara, we—" Rogue started, scrambling for words. "We were kids. We didn't know—"

"Doesn't matter."

Kara cut her off, voice sharp as a claw.

Then she moved.

Fluid. Controlled. And when she stood, towering over them with silent, predatory grace, it didn't matter that Kitty could phase through walls or that Rogue could steal the power of gods. In that moment, they felt small.

"You don't know me," Kara said, her voice low and even. "And I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," Kitty protested, stepping forward. "We're trying to help—"

Kara's tail lashed with a growl. A warning.

Then she shifted—just slightly—leaning into Kitty's space in a way that made her breath hitch, and before she could stop herself, Rogue moved instinctively between them. A protective motion.

Kara's expression flickered.

And for the first time, it almost looked like she'd gotten exactly what she wanted.

Kitty felt her stomach drop.

Then Kara exhaled, shaking her head. Whatever moment had passed between them was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Then stop trying," she said coldly.

And with that, she turned and walked away, her tail flicking once before disappearing into the trees.

Kitty and Rogue stood in stunned silence, watching her retreating form.

Neither knew what to say.

The Danger Room hummed softly in the darkness. It was late—long past when anyone else should've been down here.

Logan hadn't meant to stop. He'd just been passing through, heading for a drink after another restless night when he caught the faint glow beneath the doors.

Then he caught the scent.

Kara.

The bass-heavy pulse of rock metal echoed through the metal walls of the Danger Room, raw and guttural, the kind of sound that vibrated in the bones. Strobe lights flashed in erratic bursts, cutting the darkness with searing, disorienting flashes. The whole scene should have been unbearable for a feral like her.

And yet, Kara moved through it as if she didn't see, didn't hear, didn't feel.

Logan stood just outside the observation deck, arms crossed, his jaw set as he watched. He hadn't spoken much to her since she'd returned. Didn't know how to. What the hell do you say to a stray who didn't expect to come home?

But this? This was something else.

Her strikes were brutal, each motion sharp and honed, her claws slicing through the air with practiced precision. But there was no rage behind it, no fire—just cold, mechanical movement.

At first, he thought she was just working through a routine. Then the program shifted.

The room came alive around her, No-Faced enemies flickering into existence, their blurred, inhuman features distorting under the flashing lights. Armed, aggressive, closing in.

Logan tensed, expecting her to react, to fight.

She didn't.

The first one struck, driving a simulated fist into her ribs. Her body jerked from the impact but she didn't retaliate. Didn't even snarl. Just kept moving.

Another hit landed, a baton cracking against her shoulder. She stumbled slightly but corrected, maintaining her fluid motions as if they weren't even there.

Blow after blow rained down. A strike to the gut. A slash across the thigh. The next hit knocked her sideways, her claws scraping against the steel floor, yet she merely rose and kept going.

Logan's fingers curled into fists.

What the hell was this?

He'd seen fighters take a beating before. He'd seen soldiers push through pain. But this? This wasn't endurance. This wasn't training.

This was something else.

The next attacker came at her with a blade. The strike landed cleanly, slashing across her side. Blood spattered against the cold floor, dark under the flickering lights.

And she didn't react.

Didn't flinch. Didn't snarl. Didn't even acknowledge it.

Logan had seen enough.

He stormed into the control booth, slamming the emergency override. The simulation fizzled out instantly, the No-Faced enemies disappearing in a flicker of light. The music cut to silence, leaving only the hum of machinery and the sharp panting of the lone figure standing in the middle of the room.

Kara stayed still, shoulders rising and falling, blood dripping from fresh wounds.

Logan took a step forward. "The hell was that?"

She didn't answer.

He narrowed his eyes. "That ain't training." His voice was low, steady, but lined with something hard. "What were you doin'?"

Kara stared at him.

Not with anger. Not with frustration.

Just... hollow.

Logan's stomach twisted.

He'd seen that look before. In Weapon X. In broken mutants who had long stopped fighting, long stopped believing they were worth saving.

Something ugly settled in his chest.

He took another step forward. "You don't do that again."

That, finally, got a reaction as Kara seemed to come back to herself. Her head tilted slightly, eyes sharpening. A flicker of aggression. Like a cornered animal whose only instinct was to bite when pressed.

She pushed back, voice sharp. "Had it under control."

"Because that wasn't training," Logan growled. "That wasn't control Salem. That was taking a beating."

Her breath hitched—just for a fraction of a second.

Logan pressed on. "I don't know what kinda shit Creed and the Red Lotus put you through, but that—" He gestured to the now-empty room, "—ain't how we train here."

"Pain is only what you give." Kara snarled, but it wasn't anger. It was defense. Like a wounded thing lashing out to keep something deeper at bay.

But it wasn't her words that hit him the hardest.

It was her eyes.

That single, quiet look said everything.

This is what I am.

This is what I deserve.

Pain is just something they take.

Logan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to snap at her, to shake some sense into her, to tell her she wasn't some damn punching bag—

But he knew that wouldn't reach her.

Not yet.

So instead, he stepped closer, voice lowering, steady and firm. "You're not there anymore."

Kara said nothing as her tail lashed behind her.

"You've been on edge since you got here," he continued. "Feels like you're waiting for a fight. Like last time."

Kara's tail flicked, but she still said nothing.

Logan's gaze darkened. "Zaheer? Red Lotus? They still a problem?"

She shook her head. "Red Lotus has bigger things to worry about." Her voice was even, detached.

"And what bout you?" Logan pressed.

"Don't matter." Kara landed a hard shot to her static opponents seemingly as emphasis.

Logan frowned at that last part. Something in the way she said it—cold, absolute—sent a prickle of unease through him.

But he let it slide.

For now.

Kara turned away, clearly intending to return to her drills. But Logan wasn't done.

"Kara," he said carefully, voice steady. "I know about Apex."

That stopped her.

Kara froze mid-motion, every muscle in her body locking up as if he'd just yanked a trigger wire. Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression unreadable.

"You don't know anything." The words came out flat, too controlled. Too rehearsed. Not even a growl.

Logan exhaled through his nose. "You're right. But I know it's got something to do with why they took you. I know it's a weapon—dangerous. And I know I should've been there to stop it."

Kara's claws flexed unconsciously, her fingers curling into fists. Her tail, once a steady sway behind her, lashed erratically now.

"Couldn't stop it. Kill you."

Logan didn't miss the way her voice dipped, just slightly, into something almost—scared.

His mind flashed to the moment he'd woken up from the dead, claws digging into the dirt, only to realize Kara was gone. He forced the memory down.

"I looked for you Kara. All this time I never stopped tryin' to bring you home. But I could've tried harder" he said, his voice rough but sincere. "I don't know what they did to you, or how you're involved, but I wasn't there to stop it. You know I tried to find you. I did."

Kara growled low in her throat, but for the first time, she hesitated.

Something flickered across her expression—conflict.

For a second, just a second, Logan saw a crack in the armor she'd built around herself.

Then, he made the mistake of saying his name.

"And I'm sorry I couldn't keep Creed away from you."

The snarl that tore from Kara's throat was pure instinct, raw and animalistic.

Lips curled back, sharp teeth bared, hackles up. Her claws shot out, glinting in the dim light. Her tail lashed so violently behind her that the air itself seemed to hum with static.

"Don't," she growled, voice trembling with fury. "Don't say his name."

Logan didn't flinch. Didn't back away.

He just lifted his hands in a slow, open-palmed gesture of peace. "Alright. Alright. I'm just sayin'—"

"Get out."

Logan exhaled, jaw tightening.

"Salem, I—"

"Out!"

The Danger Room echoed with the force of her roar and just for a second ... Logan swore the darkness around Kara shifted.

Logan stood there for a moment longer, watching the way her claws dug into her palms, the way her breath came heavier now, uneven.

He knew this wasn't just about Creed.

Something else had its claws in her head—something deep, tangled, wrong.

And that's when he saw it.

It was brief, gone as soon as it came, but it was there—the flicker of hesitation in her gaze, like a moment of clarity that she didn't trust.

Like she was questioning something inside her own mind.

Like a memory she wasn't sure belonged to her.

He turned to leave, but not before throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

"I'm still here for you, Kara." His voice was quiet, firm, "whenever you're ready. I'm still here."

She didn't respond.

Didn't move.

Only when he was gone did Kara finally unclench her fists, staring down at the blood now pooling in her palms.

She wasn't sure why she was shaking.