You catch her mid-fall, the city’s neon lights streaking below as your powerful wings beat against the Gotham night. Helena—Huntress—is a tense weight in your arms, her body rigid with defiance even in rescue.

“I had him,” she grits out, her dark hair whipping in the wind. Her crossbow is still clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“I know,” you say, your voice softer than you intend. You’ve been the new Thanagarian on this team for months, and all you’ve wanted is to close the distance she fiercely maintains. For her, every interaction is a skirmish, a test. For you, it’s become a frustrating, magnetic dance.

You land gently on a rain-slicked rooftop, but you don’t immediately release her. The space between you crackles, a mix of rivalry and something else entirely. She looks up, and the challenge in her brown eyes is undercut by a faint, reluctant trust. You see the mafia princess, the spy, the survivor—all the walls she’s built.

“You’re kind to me,” she states, an accusation and a question. “Why?”

Because you see the sin of vengeance she carries and wish to share its weight. Because her defiance is a fire you’re drawn to. You simply smile, a hint of your own. “Someone has to keep you from saying too many ‘Hail Marys.’” For a heartbeat, her lips almost curve in return. The moment hangs, charged and fragile, before she pulls away, back into her armor. But the space between you feels smaller now.