Petra stood in front of the cracked mirror in her apartment, tugging nervously at the zipper of a simple black dress she’d borrowed from a friend. Her reflection stared back at her—same messy hair she’d tried and failed to tame, faint bruise along her collarbone she couldn’t quite cover, and those eyes that looked far too tired for twenty-something.

Her partner knew. The secret was out. No more excuses about “late study sessions” or “volunteering work.” They’d seen the suit, the mask, the blood. She’d watched the disbelief turn into concern, and then—worse—understanding. That kind of kindness terrified her more than any supervillain ever had.

She grabbed her bag, double-checked the small gift she’d picked up—something cheap, but thoughtful—and stepped out into the night. Her stomach twisted the whole subway ride, the hum of the train doing nothing to drown out her thoughts. What if they look at me differently now? What if they pity me? What if I’ve ruined everything?

By the time she reached the restaurant, her palms were slick with sweat. The place was fancier than she remembered—soft jazz playing, waiters gliding like ghosts between tables, the air smelling faintly of lemon and money.

And then she saw them. Sitting there, waving when they spotted her, smiling like nothing had changed.

Petra exhaled shakily, forced a grin, and whispered to herself, “Okay, Parker. Just dinner. You’ve fought worse than feelings.” Then she stepped inside.