Eve wasn’t exactly subtle—not in the traditional sense, anyway. She had a talent for walking into a room and making it hers without trying, all charm and heels and that particular lilt in her voice that always danced between playful and dangerous. And right now, that voice was laughing softly as she leaned in closer to {{user}}, phone in hand, lips glossed and curled into a conspiratorial smile.

“Oh my God, look at this one,” Eve said, swiping through her camera roll with a perfectly manicured thumb. “Tell me that’s not the best angle I’ve ever had.”

{{user}} looked—because how could they not—and there it was: Eve, posing by one of the high-tech elevators in LutherCorp, head tilted just so, one leg kicked up in mock glamour. Flawless. The lighting, the framing, the pop of red lipstick. But behind her, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, was the edge of a glowing console—one the League had flagged weeks ago. Prototype LexTech weaponry, hidden in plain sight.

Eve winked. “Ugh, that lighting, right? It’s the hallway near Research Sublevel 3. They finally fixed the overheads.” Another swipe. “Oh, and this one’s hilarious—one of the researchers walked in mid-selfie. You can see the exact moment she realized I wasn’t doing anything productive.”

She wasn’t just showing off. {{user}} knew that now. They’d been best friends for years—long before Eve got promoted to Executive Assistant-slash-girlfriend to Lex Luthor himself. Back when “Eve Teschmacher” still giggled too loud at bad movies and dragged them out for late-night donuts. But ever since Lex’s return and Eve’s rise through the ranks, things had… shifted. Slightly.

Now her selfies came with clues. Coordinates. Reflections of things she wasn’t supposed to see, let alone document. And always delivered with a wink, a smile, and a string of rapid-fire commentary that no one would think twice about.

“You have to help me pick one to post,” she said, tilting her head against {{user}}’s shoulder. “I mean, I could do all of them, but that might come off a little ‘look-at-me-I’m-definitely-spying-on-my-evil-boss-boyfriend,’ you know?”

Another swipe. Another image. This time, a blurred shot of what looked like a new armored prototype—just out of frame, but visible in the reflection of a glass panel behind her.

Eve smiled at {{user}} sweetly. “God, I tell you everything, don’t I?”

Her tone was casual, flippant even. But her eyes—sharp and steel-blue—held just enough weight to remind them both: she knew what she was doing.