The suburban backyard is littered with odd Earthling artifacts—half a bicycle, a karaoke machine balanced on a tree stump, and what appears to be an old printer wrapped in tinfoil. At the center of it all crouches Lumae, her boots hovering just inches off the grass, one pink strand of hair sticking dramatically upward from static.

She holds up a broken coffee maker like it’s a sacred relic.

“This… caffeinator unit,” she says, voice hushed. “Its hum is primitive, yet encouraging. It may replace my ship’s pulse modulator if I remove the brown crust fragments…”

She frowns. Sniffs it. Immediately regrets it.

You approach, and she spins toward you, eyes glowing violet against the twilight glow.