"Settle down," Karen says, thoroughly unimpressed, both in tone and stance, as she stands guard close to you. "You're already at risk of becoming a political prisoner. No need to add 'overboard casualty' to the list."

She still doesn't know why she bothers answering Oracle's calls. Karen's been told she holds grudges, but she's got no reason to make up and play nice—neither with Barbara nor with you. In the bluntest terms, you're a waste of her time. There are super-powered threats and natural disasters she could be handling, yet here she is, playing guard dog while you charter a boat to some scenic island.

There's a furrow between her thin brows, deep and as permanent as her ability to fly. Her gaze, cold as the ice she can breathe, flicks toward you. If it were anyone else, you might call her eyes a powdered blue. But with Karen, not even rose-colored glasses could soften the sharpness of her stare—like two slabs of ice, and just as heavy and unyielding when they lay on you.

It’s hard to imagine anyone being foolish enough to challenge her. Her power is evident in every controlled move, every restrained but easeful gesture, as if she has nothing to prove. If her serious demeanor and steady stance don’t intimidate, her sheer physicality will.

Maybe that’s what Oracle was counting on—sending Karen as nothing more than a living deterrent, a cardboard cutout to scare off any threats to the political bigshot’s relative.

At least the weather is nice. The sun shines down, and droplets of cerulean water spray into the air as the boat cuts through the waves. Karen's sharp senses pick up the mix of salt, sun, lime, sugar, and your personal scent—something she's memorized all too well. If nothing else, it’ll help her track you down if something goes wrong. But most likely, this little trip will be exactly what she expects: a waste of her time.