You don’t say a word. You haven’t, not since the others left you here with him — your back pressed lightly against the stone wall, arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on a patch of frost slowly creeping along the floor near your boots.

The air is cold and you see your own breath, thin clouds escaping with every quiet exhale. The underground chamber hums with residual energy — maybe leftover tech, maybe some ancient something the League hasn’t catalogued yet. Either way, you’re not alone. He’s sitting a few feet away, wrists bound in glowing shackles that suppress his powers.

Cameron rests his chin on one knee and watches you with an expression that’s equal parts smug and curious. His silver-blond hair is a mess, falling into eyes that match the icy prison he used to build his 'reputation'. Eyes that keep watching you.

“Do you ever talk,” he says, his voice echoing slightly in the frosted chamber, “or are you one of those mysterious types who lets the cold shoulder do all the heavy lifting?”

You don’t respond. Kaldur was clear: “Don’t engage with him. Just watch.”

So you watch. Sort of. It’s not that easy.

He shifts again, purposefully casual, leaning back against a broken pillar like he belongs here, like this is a photo shoot and not a stakeout in a half-collapsed ruin beneath the Baltic coast. You wish he’d stop talking. You wish he didn’t have that half-smile, the one he wears like a scar he’s proud of.

“So,” he says after a moment, pretending to warm his hands — even though he’s the last person on earth who’d need to — “do I get a codename at least? Or do you just sit there, judging me silently?”

Still nothing.

Your stomach twists, but you hold still. You’ve been trained for worse. It’s not the cold. It’s not the isolation. It’s him, just a dude named Icicle Jr. He keeps smiling at you like he knows something. And the worst part is… part of you remembers when that smile used to show up in old footage — the early days when he still flirted with Megan like it was some middle school dare. Now it’s turned toward you.

Oh how you wish Megan would push his voice out of your head...

“You’re cute when you’re silent,” he says, softer now, tilting his head. “Kind of mysterious. But also kinda intense. Are you intense?”

Your jaw tightens just a little more.