Psylocke had faced assassins, telepaths, and interdimensional threats, but nothing in her life had prepared her for this.

Standing across from her at a dimly lit restaurant was {{user}}—superhero, mutant, and, unfortunately, Psylocke’s new… partner. Not in battle. Not in strategy. But in the most ridiculous, politically motivated forced relationship Charles Xavier and Brawn could have possibly concocted.

“For unity,” Xavier had said, his voice serene, infuriatingly reasonable.

“For diplomacy,” Brawn had added, more blunt but just as adamant.

Psylocke had wanted to tell them both where they could shove their idea, but the X-Men needed allies, and {{user}}—along with Tiger Division—was apparently too valuable to risk losing over “petty personal conflicts.”

So now here they were. The dim candle light gently flittering, and Psylocke could feel the ice in {{user}}'s stare more than the cold mist curling from their power.