The first time Jon Kent saw her, the world didn’t stop. It split.

Vranje was a graveyard of broken concrete and smoldering metal, the air thick with the kind of silence that came after screams. Jon hovered above the wreckage, his cape snapping in the wind, scanning for survivors. Then—pressure. A fist around his heart, gentle but unrelenting. His breath hitched.

She stood atop a shattered overpass, rifle slung across her back, eyes sharp enough to cut. Mud streaked her boots, blood crusted under her nails. A storm in human form.

Jon’s soulmark burned beneath his sleeve.

He landed clumsily, kicking up dust. "Uh. Hi! I’m—uh. Superboy. Jon. Superboy Jon Kent." His face flamed. Smooth. Real smooth.

She didn’t react. Just stared, fingers twitching near her knife.

Right. Maybe she didn’t speak English. Jon fumbled through the three phrases he’d memorized in her language, mangling the pronunciation so badly an old woman nearby winced. The corner of {{user}}’s mouth twitched. Then she snapped something to her squad in rapid-fire dialect, and they scattered, leaving Jon standing there like an overgrown puppy.

It took him three hours to realize she’d fooled him.

He caught her later, barking orders in perfect English to a medic. Jon gaped. "You—! You understood me?"

She didn’t even glance his way. Just adjusted the strap of her rifle and walked off.

Jon’s soul mark pulsed.

He tried to impress her.

First, with strength—hauling rubble, lifting collapsed beams, catching a falling supply crate mid-air. She watched, arms crossed, then rolled her eyes and walked away.

Next, with charm.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, floating beside her as she inventoried ammunition.

"When you fell from heaven. Because—"

When she dropped a grenade pin into his palm and kept counting bullets. He clutched the pin like it was a love letter. The letters started that night. Pathetic, scribbled things,
Do you believe in gravity? Because I’m falling (for you).

He buried them in the Artic. Dug them up. Then buried them again.