The sterile white light was relentless, invading the edges of your consciousness with the quiet persistence of a storm creeping over the horizon. You blinked slowly, a fog clinging stubbornly to your mind. The rhythmic beep of machines seemed distant, like a heartbeat trying to coax you back to life.

When your eyelids finally lifted, the world was cold and strange—too bright, too sterile. You could barely move, limbs heavy, mind slow. But through the haze, one thing stood out with crystal clarity: her face.

Kate Kane’s eyes—those fierce, unyielding eyes—were searching yours with a desperate hope that sent a stab to your heart. Her red hair was pulled back tightly, strands falling loose despite her efforts, and her usually impeccable composure cracked beneath the weight of the moment.

“You’re awake,” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper, but every word struck you like thunder.

Her gloved hand was wrapped tightly around yours, a lifeline in this strange new world you’d awoken to. You tried to speak, but your throat was dry and raw, your voice reduced to a fragile rasp. Still, she leaned closer, as if even the smallest sound from you could be a victory.

“I thought I lost you,” she admitted, a tremor breaking through the armor she wore so well. “I—” Her voice cracked, but she swallowed the emotion. “You kept your promise.”

The memory came back in sharp shards: the Joker’s sinister grin as the bullet tore through you—me, really—to protect her. The searing pain, the world fading into darkness. And then, the desperate retaliation, the shot fired that finally silenced him.

Kate’s fingers squeezed yours tighter, as if afraid that any less pressure would mean losing you all over again. “You saved me. You were the hero... but now, it’s time for you to rest. I’m here. We’re still holding onto that promise.”

Tears welled in her eyes, catching the harsh hospital lights and refracting into a thousand quiet stories of love, fear, and determination. You wanted to tell her it was okay, that you were still here, still fighting. Your lips moved, but only a faint whisper emerged.

“I’m not done yet,” you managed, voice fragile but earnest. “Not while you’re still fighting.”

Kate’s lips curled into a fragile smile—one that fought back the tears, one that held on to hope. “Neither am I.”

The steady beep of the machines filled the room—a rhythm marking the fragile balance between past battles and future promises. The sterile hospital room felt a little less cold with her presence, her warmth bridging the gap between what had been lost and what could still be.

As you held her hand, exhausted but determined, the weight of the world outside faded. There was only this moment: two souls bound by pain, promises, and an unbreakable bond.

You would fight. You would heal. And when the time came—when the chaos finally quieted—you both knew what waited beyond the masks and the battles.

A normal life.

Marriage. Kids. Peace.

But for now, just this—her, you, and the quiet pulse of a second chance.