It's said that first love leaves a lasting mark, and even for a being like Diana, this holds true.

Steve Trevor—the first, the truest—was her guide to a new world. She's embraced relationships and courtships since, but Steve's presence endures.

He consistently surprised her; in life and death.

A glimpse of an aviator jacket, a familiar scent, a meal he enjoyed. On quiet nights at the Hall of Justice, he intrudes upon her thoughts—an unbidden but periodic visitor. She sees his features in dossiers and his mannerisms in military officials.

Her fingers subtly tighten on the edge of the desk, uncertain whether it's the silent presence of Steve's ghost or Diana herself hindering her from reaching out and touching you.

It's not rational for her to deny the opportunity to move on from a dead man who wouldn't have asked her to do so. It's even less so to jeopardize your perfectly fine workplace friendship.

It's no secret that you two are close—it's evident in her frequent visits to your department, shared lunch breaks, and dinners.

Disturbing this delicate balance would be foolish. How fair would it be to you if Steve remains a constant presence in her mind, with no intention of leaving? She can’t commit her heart to you, but neither can she stay away.

A tick too late, she notices you've stopped talking.

"I apologize," Diana says in a hushed murmur, the two of you the last stragglers in your department. "You were saying?"