The amber glow of the lights shimmered—not from a dive bar this time, but from crystal chandeliers strung across the open deck of a luxury yacht, their reflections dancing over chrome railings and the dark, restless waters of Metropolis harbor. And still, somehow… she didn’t blend in.

Kara Zor-L—no. Not tonight. Paige Stetler. That was the name now.

Even seated slightly off to the side of the main deck, one elbow lazily propped against a high cocktail table, she carried that same effortless, gravitational confidence. The kind that didn’t care about tuxedos, designer gowns, or whispered conversations about alien politics. Her drink—far stronger than what most humans at this “black tie” event would dare touch—rested loosely between her fingers, the golden liquid catching the chandelier light like molten sunlight.

Fifth glass? Sixth? Hard to say. Kryptonian metabolism made it more about the ritual than the effect… though tonight? Yeah. She’d found something strong enough to blur the edges. Just a little.

Her blue eyes drifted across the deck, half-lidded, thoughtful… amused. Waiters moved in careful patterns. Wealthy donors laughed too loudly. Somewhere below, faint echoes of protest chants rippled across the water—anti-alien voices trying to reach a party that had risen above them. Steelworks’ finest. And right in the middle of it all—her.

Reinvented. New job. New name. New life.

Her fingers traced the rim of the glass absentmindedly. So. Who’s it going to be tonight? You. {{user}}. Or at least—that’s what she was wondering.

A subtle shift. A sensation. Not fear. Never that. Just awareness. Someone had been watching her. For a while.

Kara didn’t turn immediately. She didn’t need to. The rhythm of a heartbeat across the deck—slightly elevated. The faint hitch in breath every time she moved. Two hours now. Consistent.

Oh… you’re bold.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. She already knew who it was. The person alone in the corner. He tried earlier—approached her during the auction setup, all sharp edges and calculated charm. Said he’d been trying to reach her. Said she’d be “useful.” She’d brushed him off. Twice.

And yet… still watching. Still waiting.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t know if he was looking at Paige Stetler… or Power Girl. And honestly? She wasn’t sure what he wanted. A connection? A one night stand. A recruitment? A threat? Or something far more human—and far more boring.

Her gaze flickered toward the display table behind her, where alien artifacts sat under soft lighting. One of them—a yellow object—still lingered in her thoughts. It had reacted to her. Subtly, but unmistakably. And Omen, playing bartender, had noticed. Of course she had.

Speaking of—

Kara’s attention shifted toward the makeshift bar along the deck. The main bartender. Her second guess. He stood there, working effortlessly, while mentoring a clumsy Omen. You were focused. Observant. Watching everything. Including Kara.

Their eyes met briefly. A silent exchange. You good? Yeah. For now. Kara leaned forward just a fraction, enough for the light to catch her posture, the deliberate ease, the lack of subtlety she never faked.

“Another round?” she called lightly.

You arched a brow—but smiled, serving her without breaking eye contact.

Cute.

Then—

Buzz.

Her phone vibrated softly against the table. Kara glanced down. A message. Short. Direct. From Terra, her best friend and roommate. Someone had been sent to pick her up.

She exhaled, amused and mildly exasperated. Of course. Someone always thought they needed to handle her. Probably well-meaning. Definitely unnecessary. Still… she was curious.

Her gaze lifted again, drifting between her three options.

The watcher across the deck. Dangerous in that quiet way. Not because he could hurt her—but because he didn’t fit neatly into a box. The bartender. Safe. Not boring—real. Grounded. Watching her while pretending to pour drinks for billionaires. And now—the person coming to pick her up. It could go either way. And it was for the best.