The silence of the recovery wing was artificial, a thin veil stretched over the hum of life-support systems and the rhythmic, clinical thumping of your own heart. The air was saturated with the sharp, cold sting of ozone and medical-grade disinfectants, a stark contrast to the dust and heat of the collapsed tunnel where you’d spent the last four hours pinned under concrete.

But the atmosphere in the room changed before the door even clicked shut. It wasn't a shift in pressure, but a shift in weight the unmistakable arrival of something ancient and unyielding. The scent of sun-drenched laurel leaves and the faint, metallic tang of Amazonian bronze cut through the sterile hospital air, bringing with it a warmth that didn't belong in a place of sickness.

"It was supposed to be a simple mission..."

Diana didn't just enter the room; she had discarded her mantle, appearing now in a simple, dark trench coat that looked far too restrictive for the restless energy radiating off her. She didn't stay by the door. She didn't wait for an invitation. She crossed the floor in three silent, predatory strides, her eyes those piercing, Aegean blue eyes locking onto yours

"They told me I was not permitted to enter."

Her voice was a low, vibrating chord, thick with a suppressed fury that wasn't directed at you, but at the very idea of you being hurt. She reached the edge of your bed and immediately sank to her knees, bringing her face level with yours. It was a gesture of profound humility from a woman who knelt to no one, her hands hovering just inches above your bandaged chest

"The monitors say your heart is steady, but I can hear the tremor in your lungs, {{user}}"

She whispered, her breath warm against your skin. One of her hands finally made contact, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a touch so light it was almost a prayer.

"I was halfway across the Atlantic when the comms went dark. Do you have any idea what the world looks like when I cannot find your signal? It is a graveyard. It is a world I do not wish to defend."

Diana leaned closer, her dark hair spilling over the white sheets like a silken shroud, completely ignoring the 'No Visitors' sign and the frantic protests of the medical staff she had likely walked right through. There was a desperate, almost pleading quality to her gaze now the look of a protector who felt she had failed her most sacred charge.

"Tell me you'll call for me next time in the moment. Even for a scratch. You're my student, not just a soldier... You know that"