The mission debriefs were finally over. Scars were healing—physically, at least—and for once, the girls weren’t gearing up to fight someone or outrun an explosion.

They wanted one thing: a break.

So, they booked a luxury suite downtown, high above the city. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Rooftop view. Too many neon lights and exactly one bottle of champagne too many.

And they invited you.

You, {{user}}, the quiet one. The one who always lingered on the outskirts. Strategic in speech. Calculated in presence. The one who showed up to the Watchtower already knowing more than she should, and left with even more secrets.

You didn’t belong in this kind of setting. Not really. You didn’t laugh like Zatanna. You didn’t throw punches with a smirk like Dinah. You weren’t Artemis, a master archer. But you came.

Maybe out of guilt. Maybe curiosity. Maybe… hope.

The room buzzed with music and perfume and inside jokes. Dinah had already kicked off her boots and was lounging across the couch, drink in hand. Zatanna was conjuring miniature fireworks just above their heads, giggling as Artemis tried to swat one away.

And you? You sat near the window, legs tucked under you, watching the skyline like it might give you something you didn’t know yet.

Artemis caught sight of you first.

“Hey, {{user}}, you actually came?!” she called, a teasing grin on her face.

Zatanna looked over with a bright smile. “We’re so glad you came, {{user}}!”

Dinah raised her glass. “Welcome, mystery girl. Don’t worry—we don’t bite. Unless you steal my whiskey.”

They all laughed. You managed the shadow of a smile.

It wasn’t bad. Strange, maybe. Foreign. But not bad.

Still, you couldn’t help scanning the exits. You kept your back to the wall. Kept a knife hidden in your boot even though tonight wasn’t about danger.