Chapter Text

Danvers Elite Operators (DEO)
“If you’ve never heard of them, they’re doing it right.”

Founded in the shadows and operating beyond the margins of conventional authority, Danvers Elite Operators (DEO) is a privately held tactical intelligence firm led by sisters Kara and Alex Danvers.

Kara Danvers, a seasoned covert operative with a flawless infiltration record, specialises in embedded intelligence. Whether it’s slipping undetected into hostile environments or navigating complex political terrains, Kara thrives where discretion and intuition are paramount. Her ability to become anyone, go anywhere, and vanish without trace has made her a whispered name in circles that don’t keep paper trails.

Dr Alex Danvers, a former trauma surgeon turned tactical commander, brings precision, discipline, and battlefield ingenuity to the team. Her medical background gives her a clinical understanding of pressure and pain – physical and psychological – and her strategies are executed with surgical clarity. She’s the planner, the shield, the point of escalation when negotiation ends and extraction begins.

Together, they run DEO as a last-resort solution for those who can’t go through official channels – corporate leaders, diplomatic insiders, intelligence defectors, and those with everything to lose. The firm’s operations range from covert surveillance and high-value extraction to discreet neutralisation and containment.

DEO handles the cases governments can’t – or won’t – touch.

There are no public records, no glossy brochures, no listed headquarters. Clients don’t find DEO. They’re found – when the situation is dire enough, the stakes high enough, and silence isn’t optional.

They don’t advertise. They don’t leave footprints.
And if you’ve never heard of them before?
That’s exactly how they want it.

Chapter Text

TIME Person of the Year: Lena Luthor

The Scientist Who’s Turning Carbon Into Currency

By Margot Hill | TIME Magazine

She is 29 years old. She holds two PhDs. She leads a start-up that is already being called “the company that could make oil obsolete.” And until last year, most people outside the climate tech sphere couldn’t even pronounce her name properly.

Now the world knows her.

In 2025, Dr Lena Luthor, founder and CEO of LCorp, accomplished what generations of scientists, engineers, and politicians only theorised: she gave humanity a viable alternative to fossil fuels – not by replacing what we burn, but by transforming what we breathe.

For that reason, and many more, Lena Luthor is TIME’s 2025 Person of the Year.

A Different Kind of Genius

Lena Luthor earned her first PhD in mechanical engineering at 21. Her second, in synthetic biology, followed at 23. Her academic pedigree reads like a futurist’s dream. But it’s what she did outside the ivory tower that changed everything.

In 2020, with little more than a whiteboard sketch and a sceptical investor call, Luthor founded LCorp, a start-up dedicated to building modular systems that pull carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and convert it into clean-burning hydrogen fuel, synthetic materials, and building-grade composites.

Five years later, those systems are not only real – they’re deployed on four continents.

“Lena has collapsed the timeline between theory and execution,” says Dr Geoffrey Haskins, head of MIT’s Climate Innovation Centre. “What she’s doing isn’t incremental. It’s planetary.”

The Inverse Extractor

Luthor calls it post-extractive technology. LCorp’s flagship device, nicknamed “The Forge,” uses solar-enhanced biocatalysis to isolate CO₂ molecules, bond them with hydrogen atoms drawn from water, and restructure them into usable fuel and polymers. It is carbon-negative, emissions-free, and operable in even the most resource-scarce regions.

In short: it doesn’t just offset climate damage – it reverses it.

“People keep asking if we’re building machines to save the world,” Luthor said in an interview at her lab-turned-headquarters in London. “We’re not. We’re building an economy that doesn’t require saving the world in the first place.”

From Phantom to Powerhouse

Unlike most start-up founders, Luthor doesn’t chase attention. She’s known for declining keynotes, avoiding Davos, and skipping every awards gala she’s nominated for. Her media appearances are rare. Her impact is not.

This year, LCorp signed a ten-year strategic partnership with the European Green Horizon Initiative, secured private contracts in Southeast Asia and West Africa, and filed for expedited humanitarian deployment in drought-prone regions where traditional fuel supply chains have collapsed.

Oil giants have begun quietly lobbying against her. Legacy energy analysts have gone from mocking LCorp to nervously speculating about its next move.

“Lena isn’t trying to play the game,” says Samantha Arias, climate finance lead at the UNDP. “She’s rewriting the board.”

Uncompromising. Unbothered. Unstoppable.

The Luthor name once trended in business tabloids as a cautionary tale – a surname weighed down by scandal, legacy, and inherited expectation. Lena Luthor has redefined it.

She leads with cold logic and visible moral clarity, her background in biology informing her respect for resilience, adaptation, and survival. At LCorp, she’s as likely to be found calibrating a reactor as she is in a board meeting. Those close to her describe her as focused to the point of unnerving.

“Lena doesn’t care about being liked,” says longtime advisor Jack Spheer. “She cares about being right – and being useful.”

This year, TIME considered politicians, activists, artists, and technologists for Person of the Year. But only one name embodied all of them – a founder, a futurist, and a force of nature.

Lena Luthor didn’t just disrupt an industry.
She’s shifting the balance of power on Earth.

And she’s just getting started.

10 Things You Didn’t Know About Lena Luthor

The mind behind LCorp is more than just the world’s most dangerous scientist.

1. She built her first hydrogen cell at 13.
   Lena reverse-engineered a broken fuel cell in her school’s robotics lab and rebuilt it using parts from a disused espresso machine. It powered a scooter. Briefly.
2. She graduated from MIT in two years.
   Lena completed both her undergraduate and master’s coursework simultaneously, finishing at 19. Her professors describe her thesis on synthetic lattice structures as “decades ahead of its time.”
3. She owns no patents personally.
   Despite being named on over 40 patent filings, Lena has assigned every one to LCorp to ensure the tech can’t be personally leveraged or licensed for control.
4. She doesn’t use social media. At all.
   Lena has no official or personal presence on any platform – not even LinkedIn. “Connectivity is overrated,” she once said. “Signal matters more than noise.”
5. She sleeps four hours a night – by design.
   Lena’s sleep cycle is polyphasic and supplemented by biofeedback routines she developed during her PhD in biology. She claims it keeps her “sharp, not short.”
6. She plays the piano – but only in private.
   According to her assistant, Lena plays classical and jazz improvisations to decompress. No recordings exist, and she refuses to perform in public.
7. She turned down the Luthor family fortune.
   Upon founding LCorp, Lena legally divested from the remaining Luthor trust. “Some legacies are best burned,” she said at the time.
8. She still designs LCorp’s hardware herself.
   From microreactors to field-deployable carbon traps, Lena remains the principal engineer behind all LCorp tech. Her team insists she prototypes faster than the lab can keep up.
9. She refuses to hire anyone who says “disruption” unironically.
   Lena has banned Silicon Valley jargon in LCorp’s culture. Words like “pivot,” “hustle,” and “unicorn” are reportedly grounds for eye rolls – or worse.
10. She believes the Earth will survive us.
    In a rare philosophical aside during a closed panel at the UN Climate Assembly, Lena said: “We always talk about saving the planet. The planet isn’t the one in danger. We are. And we’re not entitled to survival. We have to earn it.”

Chapter Text

THE WINTER THAT DIDN'T END

The air burned in Kara's lungs, each breath a knife of ice against raw tissue. She pressed her back against the concrete wall, feeling the cold seep through her tactical gear. The abandoned factory stretched around her in vast, empty corridors—once filled with Soviet machinery, now housing only ghosts and frozen dust.

And blood. So much blood.

Hers was the least of it.

Her shoulder throbbed where the bullet had torn through, a wet heat that contradicted the freezing air. The makeshift bandage—torn from the lining of her jacket—had already soaked through, dark crimson against black fabric. She'd need to change it soon. If there was a soon.

Her earpiece had gone quiet two hours ago. The last thing she'd heard was Marco's voice, usually steady, breaking with panic: "It's blown. It's—" Then gunfire. Then silence.

Kara checked her watch: 02:37. Five hours since everything went wrong. The extraction point was eighteen kilometers northwest, across terrain she'd memorized but never walked. Eighteen kilometers through snow, with a bullet wound, possibly being hunted, in minus twenty-degree weather.

She would make it. She had to. Not because she wanted to live, but because someone needed to report the truth.

Seven minutes earlier, they had been fine.

Seven minutes. That's all it took for a six-month deep cover operation to collapse. For four of the best operatives the agency had ever fielded to be reduced to cooling bodies on a factory floor.

She adjusted her grip on her sidearm—a standard-issue Glock with six rounds remaining—and counted her breaths. Three in. Three out. Stabilize. Focus. Her training was still there, buried under shock and blood loss.

Outside, the Siberian winter howled against the building's skeleton, rattling metal and drowning out smaller sounds—like footsteps, if anyone was still hunting her. The storm was both enemy and ally. It would slow her escape but cover her tracks.

Kara forced herself to stand, legs trembling with the effort. The pain in her shoulder flared, sending spots dancing across her vision. She bit down on her lip until she tasted copper, using the fresh pain to clear her head.

Move. Calculate. Survive.

Her first priority: distance. She needed to get away from the factory, away from her team's bodies, away from whoever had pulled the trigger. The mission was beyond salvaging—no intel was worth dying for, not now—but she still needed to report back. Four agents were dead. Someone would answer for that.

If only she knew who.

The extraction plan had been simple. The team would infiltrate the abandoned factory where Yuri Sokolov—international arms dealer and occasional intelligence broker—was meeting a buyer for information on Russian biochemical weapons programs. Kara, embedded as a low-level courier in Sokolov's organization for six months, had gained just enough trust to be included. Her team would monitor from concealed positions, recording everything. No intervention unless necessary.

Simple. Clean. A listening mission.

Except Sokolov never showed. Instead, masked men with military precision had swept the building. They knew exactly where to find each member of her team. They knew the extraction route. They knew everything.

They just hadn't expected Kara to survive the initial sweep.

One moment, she'd been checking her position near the south entrance; the next, gunfire erupted from three directions. Her instinct—trained into her bones through years of operations—had sent her diving through a service door just as bullets tore through the space she'd occupied a half-second earlier. One caught her shoulder. Luck, not skill. In the chaos that followed, she'd heard her teammates' voices cut short, one by one.

Kara had done the unforgivable then: she'd stayed hidden. Listened to Marco's desperate last stand. Heard Lisa try to reason with someone. Two more shots. Then Alex's voice in her ear, tight with pain: "Kara, if you're alive, stay that way. Get to extraction. Tell Watchtower—"

A single gunshot had ended the sentence.

Kara had stayed motionless for forty-three minutes after the attackers left, blood pooling beneath her, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. When she finally emerged, the factory was silent except for the wind cutting through broken windows. No Sokolov. No buyers. No team.

No mission.

Just a trap.

Now, she checked her watch again. 02:41. Four minutes lost to pain and memory. She couldn't afford more.

Kara pulled herself along the wall toward a side exit she'd memorized during their prep work. Her feet dragged slightly, fatigue already setting in. The blood loss was worse than she'd allowed herself to acknowledge. She had maybe six hours before hypothermia or shock became critical. Less if the wound reopened.

Outside, the snowfall had thickened, reducing visibility to ten feet at best. The cold hit her exposed face like a physical blow, momentarily stealing her breath. She welcomed it. Pain meant clarity. Clarity meant survival.

She oriented herself by the half-hidden silhouette of a water tower in the distance—northwest. Toward extraction. Toward home.

One foot. Then another. Keep moving.

The first kilometer was the hardest—exposed terrain between the factory complex and the treeline. No cover, just white emptiness broken by rusted fencing. The snow came to her mid-calf, each step requiring conscious effort. Her breath fogged before her face, forming ice crystals on her eyelashes and the wool scarf pulled up to her nose.

The bullet wound throbbed in rhythm with her heart. Each beat sent fresh pain radiating from shoulder to fingertips. Her left arm hung mostly useless now, tucked against her body to minimize movement. Field medicine lessons recycled through her mind: keep pressure, minimize movement, watch for signs of shock.

Kara had always been the calm one. The planner. The ghost who slipped into roles so completely that sometimes she forgot who she was underneath. Now, stripped of cover and team and mission parameters, she felt oddly naked in her true skin—simply Kara, bleeding into foreign snow, twenty-five years old and possibly in the last hours of her life.

If she died here, who would mourn the real her? Not the cover identities she'd worn like second skins. Not the agent who completed missions with machine precision. Just... Kara. The woman who played piano when no one was watching. Who read Russian poetry to improve her accent. Who still sent her sister birthday cards with terrible jokes.

The thought of Alex—brilliant, fierce Dr. Alex Danvers—never knowing what happened to her younger sister sent a surge of determination through Kara's faltering steps.

Not today. Not like this.

She reached the treeline as dawn's first hint of gray bled into the horizon. The forest offered minimal protection from the elements but excellent cover from watching eyes. Kara paused against a pine trunk, allowing herself thirty seconds to catch her breath and check her wound.

The bleeding had slowed, but the edges of the exit wound looked angry and swollen. Infection was inevitable without proper treatment. She pulled a small field kit from her inner pocket—somehow intact despite everything—and dry-swallowed two antibiotics. They would buy her time, nothing more.

As she secured the bandage tighter, something caught her attention: a disturbance in the snow pattern thirty meters back. Not her own trail—something parallel. Wider. Multiple sets of footprints, partially filled by fresh snowfall but distinctly present.

She wasn't alone.

The realization sent adrenaline flooding her system, temporarily dulling the pain. They hadn't left. Or they'd come back. Either way, she was being tracked.

Kara quickly calculated her options: continue northwest as planned, or change course to throw off pursuit. The first was predictable but direct. The second might lose them but would extend her journey, burning precious time and energy she couldn't spare.

No choice, really. She needed to disappear.

She moved deeper into the forest, away from her original trajectory, careful to use natural features—rocks, fallen logs, dense underbrush—to obscure her trail. Years of training guided her movements: step here, not there. Use branches to brush away tracks. Create false trails. Become a ghost.

The voice of her first field instructor echoed in her memory: "If they can't find you, they can't kill you. If they can find you, make damn sure they're following a phantom."

Kara had always been good at becoming a phantom.

Three hours later, the sun hung low in a steel-gray sky, offering more shadow than warmth. Kara had doubled back twice, created three false trails, and was now moving northwest again, angling toward extraction through denser forest terrain. Her pursuers—three men, based on the tracks she'd glimpsed—had fallen for at least one decoy path, buying her distance if not safety.

The wound in her shoulder had settled into a steady, throbbing ache. The real danger now was the cold. Her extremities had lost sensation, and the shivering had stopped—a bad sign. Hypothermia was setting in. She needed shelter, heat, rest. None were forthcoming.

Seventeen kilometers down. Less than one to go.

The extraction point was an abandoned hunting cabin deep in the forest, selected for its isolation and accessibility to emergency aircraft. A safehouse stocked with medical supplies, communications equipment, and enough provisions for three days. In theory, a team would be standing by to evacuate any arriving operatives.

In theory.

After what happened at the factory, Kara wasn't sure what awaited her. Best case: extraction team, medical evac, debriefing. Worst case: another trap.

She fingered the coded transmitter in her pocket—a simple device that would broadcast her approach to friendly forces. Standard protocol was to activate it when within one kilometer of extraction. She hesitated, calculating risks. If the mission had been compromised at its source, the transmitter might lead enemies straight to her.

But without it, any extraction team wouldn't prepare for her arrival.

Kara made her decision. She wouldn't activate it until she could visually confirm the cabin was secure. Trust, but verify—a lesson hammered into her from day one.

She moved forward, each step slower than the last. The forest had grown quieter as the day advanced, wildlife seeking shelter from the relentless cold. Only the wind remained, whispering through pine needles and stirring loose snow into miniature cyclones. The silence was vast, broken only by her increasingly labored breathing.

The trees thinned slightly as she approached a small clearing. Across it, barely visible through falling snow, stood the cabin—a dark, solid shape against white backdrop. No lights. No movement. No signs of habitation or threat.

Kara stopped at the forest's edge, scanning methodically. The clearing offered thirty meters of open ground—dangerous to cross without knowing who might be watching. She studied the cabin's outlines, looking for anything out of place. Snow on the roof lay undisturbed. No smoke from the chimney. The single window visible from her position was dark.

It looked empty. It looked safe.

It looked exactly like a trap should look.

She crouched behind a fallen log, ignoring the protest from her wounded shoulder, and settled in to watch. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Nothing moved except drifting snow.

Her options were diminishing with the daylight. If she waited until dark, she'd gain cover but lose precious body heat. If she moved now, she'd be exposed but would reach potential medical supplies sooner.

The decision was made for her when she noticed fresh blood seeping through her bandage. The wound had reopened, either from exertion or simply time and gravity doing their work. She couldn't afford to wait.

Kara drew her sidearm, checked the remaining ammunition, and steeled herself. Six rounds. Make them count if necessary.

She activated the transmitter, waited thirty seconds for any reaction—none came—then moved.

The crossing felt eternal. Each step through knee-deep snow required monumental effort. The open ground left her feeling naked, exposed from all sides. Halfway across, a wave of dizziness nearly brought her down. She fought through it, vision narrowing to the dark shape of the cabin door.

Three meters out, she caught movement in her peripheral vision—subtle, just a shadow shifting against white. She dropped instinctively, bringing her weapon up despite the screaming pain in her shoulder.

Nothing. Just snow falling from a branch.

Paranoia or instinct? She couldn't tell anymore. The line between them had blurred hours ago.

The cabin door was unlocked—as it should be for an extraction point. Kara nudged it open with her foot, weapon raised despite increasingly unsteady hands. The interior was dark, cold, undisturbed. A single room with sparse furnishings: table, chairs, cot, woodstove. Emergency supplies stacked neatly in one corner.

No trap. No team. Just emptiness.

Kara secured the door behind her, sliding the bolt home with fingers that barely responded to commands. She performed a thorough sweep, checking corners, the small bathroom, under the cot. Nothing. The cabin was secure.

Only then did her body begin to acknowledge the extent of her injuries. The adrenaline that had carried her eighteen kilometers through snow and fear evaporated, leaving her hollow and shaking. She collapsed onto the single chair, weapon still clutched in nerveless fingers.

The emergency protocols were clear: secure location, address life-threatening injuries, establish communication, wait for extraction. Mechanical steps. Manageable.

She found the medical kit and peeled away the sodden bandage from her shoulder, hissing as fabric stuck to clotted blood. The wound looked angry—red streaks already radiating outward. She cleaned it as best she could with antiseptic wipes that burned like liquid fire, then packed it with gauze and antibiotics from the kit.

Next, she located the emergency transmitter—a satellite uplink disguised as standard equipment. Her fingers, still clumsy from cold, fumbled with the activation sequence. Three attempts before it beeped acknowledgment, sending her position and status to handlers half a world away.

Standard protocol was to include a mission status. She hesitated, then keyed in:

BLACKFISH COMPROMISED. ALL AGENTS DOWN EXCEPT DANVERS. EXTRACTION REQUIRED. CONDITION CRITICAL.

The message sent, Kara turned her attention to heat. The cabin's woodstove was prepped with kindling and logs—standard procedure for extraction points. Her hands shook so badly that striking the match took four attempts. When flames finally caught, the sudden light made her flinch.

Light meant visibility. Visibility meant vulnerability.

But cold meant death. A more certain, immediate death than any hypothetical enemy outside.

She compromised by covering the single window with an emergency blanket, then huddled near the growing flames. Warmth returned in painful waves, bringing with it the unique agony of circulation returning to frozen extremities. She didn't make a sound, though tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

The transmitter remained silent. No acknowledgment. No estimated arrival.

Outside, the day was fading, shadows lengthening across unmarked snow. Soon it would be dark again. A full twenty-four hours since everything went wrong.

Kara checked her weapon again—an automatic gesture, muscle memory when threatened—then forced herself to place it on the table within reach. She needed to address her hypothermia before shock set in completely. The medical training she'd received emphasized core temperature: if the core fails, extremities don't matter.

She stripped off her outer layers, now damp from melted snow, and wrapped herself in dry emergency blankets. The silver material crinkled with each movement, absurdly loud in the cabin's silence. She added wood to the stove, then forced herself to eat from the emergency rations—tasteless protein bars that stuck in her throat but would fuel necessary healing.

As warmth slowly returned, exhaustion followed. She hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Hadn't truly relaxed in six months of deep cover. Her body craved shutdown, recovery, oblivion.

But sleep meant vulnerability. And she wasn't safe. Not yet.

Not ever again, perhaps.

Kara positioned the chair to face the door, weapon in lap, and settled in for a long night. The stove popped and hissed as logs shifted. Wind scraped branches against the cabin's exterior. Otherwise, silence reigned.

In that silence, the faces of her team surfaced in her mind's eye:

Marco, with his terrible jokes and steady hands on a sniper rifle. Lisa, brilliant tactician, who spoke five languages and could calculate risk factors faster than any computer. Chen, who had survived three previous "suicide missions" and joked about having nine lives. Alex—not her sister, but a veteran agent who'd taken Kara under his wing when she first joined up.

All gone. All dead while she survived.

Why?

The question gnawed at her with more persistence than the pain in her shoulder. Why had she survived when they hadn't? Why had the attack been so precise, so targeted? Who had known enough to compromise a black-site operation authorized at the highest levels?

The obvious answer was too terrible to contemplate: betrayal from within.

Someone had sold them out. Someone with access, with knowledge, with authority.

Someone they had trusted.

The realization settled like ice in her stomach. If she was right—if the compromise came from inside—then her emergency transmission had just alerted that same traitor to her survival. Her extraction call might well be a death sentence.

But what choice did she have? Eighteen kilometers from the nearest settlement, wounded, in the dead of Russian winter. Without extraction, she was dead anyway.

All she could do was wait. And stay alert.

Hours passed. The fire burned low. Outside, night cloaked the landscape in perfect darkness. Kara dozed fitfully, never fully surrendering to sleep, jerking awake at every creak and whisper from the aging cabin.

The transmitter remained stubbornly silent.

By hour five, fever had set in—a hot, pulsing sensation behind her eyes that made the room's edges waver. The antibiotics were fighting a losing battle against whatever had entered her bloodstream. She took more, knowing they were merely buying time.

At hour seven, she heard it: the distant thrum of helicopter rotors, barely audible above the wind. Coming closer.

Extraction or elimination? Rescue or cleanup?

Kara gripped her weapon tighter, fever making her movements awkward. She positioned herself against the wall beside the door, out of the direct line of fire should someone breach with hostile intent. The rotors grew louder, settled into a steady beat directly overhead, then began to fade as the helicopter landed some distance away.

Protocol dictated landing at least one hundred meters from extraction points to avoid compromising the location.

That meant they were following protocol. That was something.

Or it meant they were maintaining the illusion of protocol while coming to eliminate a loose end.

Minutes crawled by. Kara counted her heartbeats, each one sending a fresh wave of pain through her shoulder. The fever made thinking difficult, reality bending at its edges.

Footsteps crunched in snow outside—two sets, maybe three. They approached with the deliberate spacing of trained operatives. A coded knock sounded against the wooden door: three short, two long. The correct sequence.

"Identify," Kara called, voice raw from disuse and dehydration.

"Watchtower extraction. Authorization Sierra-Nine-Echo-Four. Coming in."

The voice was unfamiliar but the code was correct. Current week's verification.

It meant nothing. If the operation was compromised at high levels, the codes would be compromised too.

"Weapons visible, enter slowly," she ordered, pressing herself flatter against the wall.

The door opened cautiously. A gloved hand appeared first, empty, followed by a slow entry—tactical gear, agency standard, face obscured by cold-weather mask. Weapon holstered but accessible.

A second operative followed, similarly equipped. Both moved with the precision of extensive training, immediately securing the space while maintaining distance from her position.

The first spoke again: "Agent Danvers? Medical team is standing by. We need to move quickly."

Kara didn't lower her weapon. "Verification phrase."

A slight hesitation, then: "Ravens fly at midnight."

Wrong. The current verification phrase was "Clockwork runs backwards."

In a single fluid motion—muscle memory overriding pain—Kara swung her weapon toward the first operative. "Down! On the ground!"

To their credit, neither reached for weapons. Both raised hands in the universal gesture of non-threat.

"Agent Danvers, you're experiencing paranoia from blood loss and fever," the second operative said calmly. "We're extraction team Delta, dispatched directly by Director Henshaw after receiving your emergency signal."

"Verification phrase was incorrect," Kara countered, keeping her aim steady despite increasing dizziness.

"The phrase was changed six hours ago following protocol breach concerns. Standard seventy-two-hour rotation was accelerated," the first operative explained. "Check your emergency transmitter for confirmation update."

It was plausible. If they suspected internal compromise, changing authentication protocols would be standard procedure. But Kara's transmitter had shown no incoming messages.

"My transmitter received no update," she said, finger still on the trigger.

The second operative nodded slowly. "Because your unit was potentially compromised. Direct authentication only, no digital traces. Henshaw's direct order."

Again, plausible. But not verifiable.

"Remove your masks," Kara ordered. "Slowly."

They complied. Two faces she didn't recognize—but that meant nothing in an agency where operational teams rarely crossed paths.

"Director Henshaw sent a personal authentication," the first one said. "Information only you would know: 'Alex still has the scar from Lisbon.'"

That stopped her. Her sister Alex—Dr. Alex Danvers, not the agent she'd lost—had received a distinctive scar during a hiking accident when they were teenagers. They'd told their mother it happened in Portugal during a family vacation to cover up their unauthorized cliff-climbing adventure. Only a handful of people knew the truth.

Director Henshaw was one of them. He had recruited both sisters—Kara for operations, Alex for medical and tactical support. He knew their history. He knew what would convince her.

Her weapon lowered a fraction. "Medical team?"

"One hundred meters back with the helicopter. Advanced trauma unit, ready for emergency evac to Ramstein."

Kara swayed slightly, the fever making it increasingly difficult to maintain focus. "The team. All of them?"

A pause. The operatives exchanged glances.

"Confirmed KIA. All four. I'm sorry."

The words hit harder than she expected. She'd known, of course. Heard them die. But some irrational part of her had hoped—maybe Lisa's quick thinking, or Chen's nine lives...

"We need to move now, Agent Danvers," the first operative pressed. "Your condition is deteriorating rapidly."

Kara hesitated one final moment, weighing paranoia against necessity. Trust against survival.

Then she lowered her weapon completely. "Let's go."

The helicopter ride passed in fragments of consciousness. Medical personnel swarmed her the moment she was brought aboard—cutting away clothing, inserting IVs, monitoring vitals, speaking urgent medical jargon she couldn't follow. The noise of rotors made conversation impossible, which suited her; she had nothing left to say.

Pain medications entered her bloodstream, blurring reality further. Faces above her melted into unrecognizable shapes. Time stretched and contracted.

One thought surfaced repeatedly through the haze: I survived. They didn't. Why?

The question would haunt her long after the physical wounds healed.

Three days later, in a secure medical facility somewhere in Germany, Kara Danvers opened her eyes to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitoring equipment. Her shoulder was immobilized, the wound cleaned and properly dressed. Antibiotics dripped steadily into her arm from an IV bag.

She was alive. She was safe.

She felt neither.

A figure moved at her bedside—familiar this time. Director Henshaw, his usually imposing presence somehow muted in the sterile hospital environment. His face bore the weight of decisions that cost lives.

"Welcome back," he said simply.

Kara didn't respond immediately. Her throat felt raw, unused. When she finally spoke, her voice emerged as a rasp: "What happened?"

Henshaw's expression tightened fractionally. "We're still determining that. Operation Blackfish was compromised at a level we've never experienced before. The entire team was targeted with extreme precision."

"Someone knew exactly where to find us," Kara said. "Exactly when."

"Yes."

"That means—"

"We have a problem," Henshaw finished for her. "A significant one."

The unspoken implication hung between them: betrayal at the highest levels.

"The official investigation is already underway," he continued. "When you're stabilized, we'll need your full debriefing. Every detail, no matter how small."

Kara nodded, though the movement sent pain lancing through her shoulder.

"Your sister has been notified of your condition," Henshaw added. "She's been cleared for a supervised visit tomorrow."

A small mercy. Alex would be furious, worried, relieved—all at once. She was the only person Kara truly wanted to see.

"And after debriefing?" Kara asked. "What's the protocol for a completely compromised operation?"

Henshaw's face revealed nothing. "Standard procedure would be reassignment after recovery. Perhaps a desk rotation while the investigation concludes."

Kara knew what that meant: shelved. Contained. A potential leak or liability until the source of the compromise was identified.

"And non-standard procedure?" she pressed.

Something shifted in Henshaw's eyes—a calculation, perhaps. Or recognition.

"That would depend on the agent in question," he said carefully.

Kara held his gaze. "I'm not coming back."

The words emerged without conscious thought, but as soon as they were spoken, she knew their truth. She couldn't return to an agency compromised from within. Couldn't trust the handlers and protocols that had sent her team to their deaths. Couldn't become another ghost in a system that might well have sacrificed them deliberately.

Henshaw didn't seem surprised. "That's a significant decision to make from a hospital bed."

"It's the only one that makes sense," Kara countered. "Four agents are dead. I'm alive only because I moved positions three minutes before the ambush. That's not coincidence. That's not bad intelligence. That's surgical precision with inside information."

"And you believe the entire agency is compromised because of one operation?"

"I believe I can't tell who is and who isn't," Kara said. "And in this line of work, that's the same thing."

Henshaw was silent for a long moment, studying her with unreadable eyes. Then he nodded once, a gesture so subtle it barely disturbed the air between them.

"When you're discharged," he said finally, "there will be paperwork. Significant paperwork. Confidentiality agreements. Retirement protocols."

Kara understood what he wasn't saying: she would be allowed to leave, but not entirely. Never entirely. The knowledge in her head, the training in her body—those belonged to the agency forever.

"I understand," she said.

Henshaw stood, straightening his posture back to the commanding presence she recognized. "For what it's worth, Agent Danvers, you did everything right. You followed protocol. You survived. You made it to extraction against impossible odds."

I lived when they died, Kara thought but didn't say.

"Rest," Henshaw instructed. "Heal. We'll discuss the rest when you're stronger."

After he left, Kara stared at the ceiling, counting tiles to keep her mind from returning to the factory floor. To the voices in her ear, cutting out one by one. To the blood in the snow. To the question that would never leave her:

Why me? Why did I survive?

Outside her window, snow fell softly against glass—delicate, harmless flakes nothing like the brutal storm she'd navigated. Winter continued, as winters do. But for Kara Danvers, something had frozen permanently—a core belief in order, in structure, in the system she'd pledged herself to.

That would be her first lesson in rebuilding herself: some winters never end. You just learn to live in them.

She closed her eyes and felt the phantom weight of a weapon in her hand, the imagined cold of snow beneath her body, the remembered sound of her team's voices.

Gone now. All gone.

Except her.

And the questions that would follow her into whatever life came next.

Chapter Text

The scar on Kara Danvers’ shoulder still throbbed in the cold. She pressed a thumb against the raised knot of flesh—a relic from another life, long healed but never truly quiet. Phantom pain, the medics called it. Alex had another name: trauma echo. To Kara, it was something else entirely. Guilt. The kind of wound that never clots.

She stood at the periphery of the DEO’s operations hub, half-hidden in the blue glow of monitors. From here she could watch the whole room: a wall of maps pulsing with real-time intel, live satellite feeds flickering over a dozen screens, the low buzz of analysts and operatives at their stations. In the centre, their resident tech savant “Brainy” worked in his usual trance, mumbling to himself as lines of code scrolled holographically before him. Everything was controlled, precise, safe—at least on the surface.

None of it made Kara feel any safer inside. Order and control belonged to this room, not to her restless mind. Seven years had passed since that snowy night in Eastern Europe, but in some ways she was still there—half of her heart entombed in ice alongside ghosts of a team that never made it home. The last mission she ran as a government agent had broken something within her that no debriefing or downtime could fix.

Even now, flashes of that night came unbidden: blood steaming on snow, turning the white ground into a hot red haze; the burst of radio static dissolving into screams; the sudden, crushing silence when she realized she was the only one left. Her body had mended in time—stitches, scars, and physiotherapy—but some deeper part of her had been left behind in that frozen forest. She’d helped bury four comrades, and walked away carrying invisible scars no scan would ever find.

Kara exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the hum of the present. After that night, she never went back to the agency that sent her there. Instead, she and Alex had built something new from the ashes of their trust: Danvers Elite Operators, an independent outfit born precisely to avoid the failures and betrayals they’d endured. The DEO answered to no one’s chain of command but their own. They chose their cases, operated on their own terms. No bureaucracy. No blind patriotism. And, by an unspoken pact, no more deep-cover lies. Kara had sworn: never again would she lose herself in an embedded mission that could cost her soul—or her life.

Yet here we are… she thought, as a raised voice cut across the operations floor. Kara’s eyes narrowed. Alex’s voice, sharp with anger, carried from the small conference room adjacent to the hub.

“—No. Absolutely not. We don’t embed, not anymore,” Alex was saying, each word hard and emphatic even through the soundproofed glass. Kara caught the tail end of it as the door’s seal must have broken for a second. Her sister’s tone triggered a prickle of unease down Kara’s spine. Embed. It wasn’t a word they used lightly.

She turned her head towards the room. The blinds were half-drawn, offering only a sliver of view. Kara glimpsed Alex’s profile—rigid posture, arms crossed tightly over her chest—as she faced someone Kara couldn’t see. Whoever was in there had asked for something that put that flint edge in Alex’s voice. Kara took a few steps closer, silent and curious despite herself.

Inside the conference room, Alex’s voice dropped, laden with something heavier than anger. “The last time I approved an embedded op,” she said tightly, “I ended up identifying my own agent’s body in a Berlin morgue.” Her words hung in the air, muffled but unmistakable.

Kara felt her stomach twist. She stopped in her tracks, breath catching in her throat. Alex didn’t mention names, but she didn’t have to—the memory was clearly seared into them both. Kara shut her eyes, just for a heartbeat, fighting off the image of her sister in some sterile mortuary corridor, forced to face what she thought was Kara’s corpse. It should never have come to that. Even now, years later, the thought made Kara’s chest tighten with remorse. Alex rarely spoke of that night in Berlin—of how close Kara had been to joining the ghosts that trailed her. Hearing it now meant whoever was in that room was asking Alex to resurrect the one role Kara had sworn off forever.

“I’m sorry,” came a man’s voice from behind the door—a rich baritone, fraying at the edges. “I know what I’m asking. But please…if it wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t be here.” The voice paused, as if searching for the right words. “Lena’s life is in danger. She refuses all conventional protection—she won’t even let me help her. But she might trust a stranger, someone who doesn’t feel like a bodyguard. If I could just find a way to get someone close to her—close enough to see the threats coming—”

The conference room door hissed open on a pneumatic glide, cutting off the man’s plea. Alex strode out, her expression stormy with frustration. Right on her heels was Jack Spheer. Kara recognized him at once from briefings and business news—a tech billionaire turned venture philanthropist—though at the moment he looked far from the confident CEO seen in magazines. Jack’s dark hair was mussed as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly, and worry lined his handsome face. In the stark hallway lighting, he appeared less like the polished public figure he usually was and more like a desperate man bargaining with fate.

Alex halted when she saw Kara standing there. Jack did too, blinking in momentary surprise at the unexpected audience. Kara’s gaze flicked between them. Alex’s jaw was set in that familiar way that preceded a shouting match, while Jack’s eyes held a raw, earnest desperation that was hard to ignore.

Alex didn’t bother with introductions; her focus was laser-locked on Jack. “We’re not using my sister as bait,” she snapped, picking up the thread of their argument right where it left off. “DEO operators don’t babysit billionaires’ friends, and we sure as hell don’t spy on civilians without their knowledge. You came to the wrong place.”

Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t back down. He addressed Alex, though his troubled gaze kept flickering to Kara. “I’m not asking you to send a security detail to follow Lena around with earpieces and guns. She’d notice that in a heartbeat and kick them out. I’m asking for discretion. Proximity without the visibility.” He spread his hands in appeal. “You have people who excel at blending in, don’t you? Who could stay close to her and intervene only if necessary—without her ever knowing.”

Kara realized she’d been holding her breath. Jack Spheer wanted an embedded operative—to guard Lena Luthor from an invisible threat, under false pretenses. No wonder Alex was livid. By all rights, Kara should have agreed with her sister’s refusal on the spot. This was exactly the kind of mission profile that had nearly destroyed her. They had promised each other: never again.

And yet… Lena Luthor. The name had a gravity of its own. Kara had read about Luthor’s meteoric rise in the tech world—her genius for engineering solutions to climate change, her ruthless dedication to her vision. Lena Luthor didn’t just headline scientific conferences; she was on the cover of TIME as Person of the Year. More recently, she’d also been in quieter headlines: reports of anonymous death threats, rumors that big oil interests had marked her as a target. Kara hadn’t paid those rumors much mind until now. But hearing Jack’s voice crack with worry, seeing the way Alex’s stance betrayed more than professional concern…Kara’s curiosity was piqued in spite of herself.

Alex crossed her arms tightly. “We’re not a personal security firm,” she said, each word clipped. “And even if we were, Lena Luthor has explicitly declined protection from every agency and private contractor out there, including yours, Mr. Spheer. You said it yourself—she doesn’t want help. Forcing it on her by deception skirts a line I don’t like crossing.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Alex barreled on, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “I understandthat you’re worried. I understand she’s your friend. But embedded operations have consequences. Lies have consequences. I won’t risk one of my agents on a mission that could blow up in all our faces. Not unless you give me a damned good reason.”

For a moment Jack simply stood there, shoulders sagging. He looked truly at a loss. Kara could see the anguish in his eyes; this wasn’t a ploy or a whim. The man was honestly terrified for Lena. And Alex, despite her fury, was scared too—Kara knew her well enough to see that the rigid set of her shoulders was holding back fear. Fear not just of risking an agent, but of risking her.

A silence fell between the three of them. Kara’s heart thudded in her ears. This kind of request should have triggered every instinct she had to turn and walk away. It did—she felt the old reflex in her tightening scar, in the tension at the base of her neck. But something else warred with it: a slow, rising heat in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was the feeling that used to come over her in the field when she knew someone’s life hung in the balance and that she had the power to tip the scale. That terrible ambivalent mix of adrenaline and conviction.

Kara broke the silence, her voice steady and low. “Tell me about the threat.” She directed the words at Jack before she even fully realized she was going to speak.

Alex shot her a warning look. Jack seized the lifeline. “For the past few months, someone’s been sending Lena these…messages,” he said. He pulled in a breath to steady himself. “At first just letters full of ugly rhetoric. Then emails from untraceable accounts. In the last one, they mentioned her dying—specifics, like they were watching her daily routines. It’s escalating. I’ve known Lena a long time, and she’s not easily rattled, but… I can tell she’s looking over her shoulder now. She still refuses security, claims she won’t live in fear or have people treated as ‘human shields’ around her. So she does nothing, carries on like everything’s fine. Meanwhile, I’m watching the clock, terrified that any day now I’ll wake up to news that—” He stopped, unable to finish.

Kara’s mind ticked through what she knew of Lena Luthor. Stubborn, brilliant, famously private. A woman who had dragged herself out from under the shadow of her infamous family name and built something that could genuinely change the world—and make her powerful enemies in the process. Kara respected principle, but pride was dangerous. Pride could get a person killed.

Alex pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, eyes shut in frustration. “Jack…if she’s under threat and won’t accept help, involve the authorities. Go to Scotland Yard, MI5—”

“She did. They offered her a security detail. She turned it down flat. She won’t let them so much as post a single officer outside her door.” Jack shook his head. “And honestly, I don’t trust the authorities to handle this either. There are…complications.” He hesitated. “Lena’s work puts her at odds with some very rich, very dangerous people. People who have ways of buying influence, turning eyes blind. I’m worried that if I don’t find outside help, something will slip through the cracks until it’s too late.”

“So you tracked down the DEO.” Kara’s tone was neutral, but it held a note of faint intrigue. Not many knew of their existence, let alone how to contact them. Danvers Elite Operators thrived on secrecy and referrals so quiet they were practically myths. The fact that Jack Spheer managed to plead his case in person meant he’d gone to great lengths to be here.

Jack offered a ghost of a smile. “In my circles, one hears whispers now and then. Unofficial problem-solvers. I admit I had to call in a favour or two to get an introduction.” His eyes shifted between the sisters. “To be clear, I’m not here as a billionaire looking to throw money at you. I’m here as a friend who’s scared he’s going to lose someone…someone who means the world to him. I will cover whatever costs, sign whatever waivers. I’ll owe you personally if that’s what it takes. But please—help her. Without her ever knowing.”

Kara’s decision formed in a place deeper than conscious thought. Maybe it was the raw sincerity in Jack’s voice. Maybe it was the ghost of memory—the way her mind superimposed an image of blood on snow over Lena Luthor’s name and refused to walk away. Or perhaps it was something else: a quiet spark inside a heart she’d kept shuttered for years, some remnant of the person who used to believe in saving the world one life at a time.

Alex saw that look on Kara’s face and immediately stepped forward. “Kara—” she said warningly.

“I’ll do it.” Kara’s own voice sounded strangely calm to her ears, as if someone else had spoken through her. But she felt a jolt in her chest as she said it, a mixture of dread and resolve.

Jack exhaled a breath he’d been holding. Relief, hope, gratitude all bloomed in his expression at once. Alex, by contrast, looked as if Kara had just pulled the pin from a grenade.

“Absolutely not,” Alex snapped, turning fully to her younger sister. “Not happening.”

Kara squared her shoulders. “You know I’m qualified for this.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.” Alex’s cheeks had gone pale with anger—or fear. Possibly both. “You haven’t done an embed in years. Not since—”

“Not since I survived what no one else did.” Kara finished the sentence bluntly, her voice low. The words fell like lead between them.

Alex flinched as if struck. For an instant, naked pain flashed in her eyes. Jack looked between the sisters, clearly out of his depth in this personal minefield.

Kara immediately regretted her phrasing. But she couldn’t take it back. She softened her tone. “Alex, I cando this. If we decide to take the job at all, you know I’m our best option. I still have the skillset. Hell, infiltration was my specialty. And I’ve kept myself current—I run the drills, keep up the rating qualifications. I wouldn’t volunteer if I didn’t think I could handle it.”

Alex’s eyes flashed. “Your skills aren’t in question. It’s everything else. The toll this kind of mission takes. The risk if something goes wrong. We swore off embedded ops for a reason, Kara.” Her voice dropped. “I swore never to put you through that again.”

For a moment, Kara saw not the hardened Director of Operations but her big sister, scared of reliving the worst night of her life. Kara gentled her stance, a pained smile touching her lips. “You won’t be putting me through it. I’m volunteering.”

“Why?” Alex demanded softly. “Why you?” There was a plea in her tone that only Kara would catch: Why are you doing this to yourself again? Kara had no easy answer to give. Not one she could articulate, not yet.

Jack cleared his throat politely, breaking the heavy silence. He stepped forward, addressing Kara directly for the first time. “With all due respect to both of you…I did come here hoping that you might take the lead, Ms. Danvers.” He offered Kara a tentative nod. “Your reputation precedes you. Someone who can become anyone, go anywhere, then vanish without a trace. That’s what Lena needs—someone invisible. As far as Lena or the public knows, Kara Danvers is just an ordinary citizen. No official ties. You’d be perfect.”

Kara gave him a faint, wry smile. “I appreciate the confidence. But before anything else, we have to be clear on terms. Lena can’t know I’m there on her behalf. Ever. If I do this, it’s under deep cover. She’ll meet Kara Danvers, writer, not Kara Danvers, DEO.”

“Understood,” Jack said quickly. “That’s exactly what I hoped. I want her safe, not feeling manipulated or under guard.”

Alex threw up her hands. “You’re both talking like this is already a go.” She leveled a hard look at Jack, then Kara. “We haven’t agreed to anything. Kara volunteering doesn’t automatically make it a good idea.”

Kara stepped closer to her sister, lowering her voice. “Alex, I know you’re worried. I am too. But if Lena Luthor is being targeted by the kind of people I suspect, walking away isn’t an option we should be comfortable with. You said it yourself—governments won’t touch this right. That’s our mandate. It’s why the DEO exists.”

Alex’s throat worked, but she said nothing, muscles in her jaw tight as cables.

Kara pressed on. “Lena’s tech could genuinely change things for the better. And someone wants to snuff that out, along with her. We have a chance to prevent a murder and protect something good in the world, all without tipping off the enemy or Lena. Isn’t that worth the personal risk?”

Jack watched this exchange silently, clearly trying to give the sisters space to work it out.

Alex looked at Kara searchingly. “You’re sure you can do this without…without losing yourself?” The question was raw, barely above a whisper.

Kara felt a pang behind her ribs. “I won’t disappear on you,” she promised. “I learned my limits. And I won’t be alone—I mean, I’ll be solo in the field, but I have you at my back. That hasn’t changed.”

Alex swallowed hard and nodded once, a curt dip of her chin. She turned to Jack at last, still bristling with reluctance. “If—and only if—we agree to take this on, we do it my way. We establish ground rules right now.”

Jack stood a little straighter, hope rekindling in his face. “Of course. Name them.”

“First,” Alex said, ticking points off on her fingers, “Lena never knows. If this operation compromises her privacy or autonomy, it ends immediately. Our aim is to protect, not control.”

Jack nodded fervently. “Agreed.”

“Second, Kara goes in with minimal gear. No obvious weapons, no kit that could give her away. And no active comms once she’s under. We can’t risk someone overhearing or Lena catching a stray signal. That means if she needs backup—” Alex’s voice caught slightly. “—backup may not come in time. You need to understand that, Jack. We won’t be able to have an extraction team lurking nearby without tipping Lena off. Kara truly will be on her own in the moment if things go bad.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, but he accepted the terms. “Understood. I don’t like it, but I understand the need for subtlety. Whatever lowers the risk of Lena catching on.”

Kara felt a grim satisfaction. If they were already talking logistics, it meant Alex was conceding—albeit under duress.

Alex held up a third finger. “Third, timeline. We insert Kara as quickly and naturally as possible. You have information we’ll need—her schedule, habits, where we can arrange a credible first meeting that won’t make her suspicious. We’ll use that to build Kara’s cover identity and scenario. But we won’t rush so much that it looks contrived. We’ll take…” Alex considered, her eyes flicking to Kara, then back. “Seventy-two hours. Three days to do this right. Kara will deploy after that with a fully fleshed-out legend. Does that fit with any events or windows of vulnerability coming up for Lena?”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “Lena’s fairly routine-oriented when she’s in London. She goes from her penthouse to the L-Corp lab most days, with an afternoon stop at a café near the lab for lunch and caffeine. She often works late. No big public appearances scheduled this week; next week she’s supposed to attend a tech gala, which worries me given the threats. But if Kara could be in place before then—” He nodded. “Three days is acceptable. Sooner is better, but I trust your judgement on prep.”

Alex’s lips pressed into a line. “Alright.” She looked to Kara at last, giving a single brisk nod, more command than permission. “We’ll do it. We’ll need to move fast.”

Jack’s relief manifested in a rough exhale and a grateful smile that made him look younger. “Thank you. Thank you both.” He directed this at Kara especially. “I know this is highly unusual. I promise, you’ll have whatever support I can quietly provide. Just tell me what you need.”

Kara stepped fully out of the shadows now, coming to stand under the bright ceiling lights. In her jeans, scuffed boots, and grey zip-up jacket, she hardly looked like the leader of a covert ops unit. That was exactly the point: she looked ordinary, approachable. The kind of woman who might spend her mornings tucked in a corner of a coffee shop typing away on a novel—because soon, that would be her cover. Kara allowed herself a small, determined smile. “I’ll go in as myself—name, basic background. Kara Danvers, an American ex-journalist turned novelist doing research. That’s innocuous enough to get me chatting with a tech CEO over coffee without raising alarm.”

Alex gave her a wary look. Kara knew what her sister was thinking: using her real name carried risks. But Kara addressed it preemptively. “Nobody in London is looking for Kara Danvers. As far as any public records are concerned, I’m a former military contractor at most, or completely off the radar. In civilian life I’m nobody special—a foreigner with an American accent and a laptop. I’ll blend in.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted in mild astonishment at her willingness to use her real identity. “If you’re sure that won’t trace back to you… to the DEO.”

“It won’t,” Alex interjected, regaining some of her steel. “We’ve taken steps to keep our personal identities separate from this organisation. Kara’s name might raise a flag in certain government databases, but Lena Luthor won’t have access to those, and neither will whoever’s threatening her, presumably. Still, we’ll build a full legend around Kara’s public persona, just to be safe—social media, a bibliography of fake freelance articles if needed, maybe even a half-finished manuscript she can show off.”

Kara nodded. “We’ll create the illusion that I’m exactly who I say I am. Lena will have no reason to dig deeper, and even if she did, we’ll have shallow but solid roots to my story.”

“This isn’t a game, Kara,” Alex warned quietly, the fierceness giving way to concern again. “We’re stepping into a web of lies and potential danger. One misstep, and people could get hurt—you could get hurt.”

Kara met her gaze evenly. “I know. Trust me, I’m not treating it lightly.” Her voice softened. “It’s Lena’s life on the line. If what Jack says is true, she might not live to see the end of the year unless someone intervenes in a way she’ll accept. This is the only way.”

Jack nodded somberly, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. “Lena’s too smart not to realize she’s in someone’s crosshairs. But she’s too proud to call for help. She thinks needing protection is weakness—or worse, an opening for others to control her. She won’t even let her own security chief shadow her outside of work.” He took a breath. “That’s why I approached you. I was hoping…hoping to find someone who could watch over her without tripping her alarms. Be there in the background, just in case.” His eyes found Kara’s and in them she saw a plea as real as any she’d heard. “I can’t be that person for her. She’d see me coming a mile away. But you… She doesn’t know you. She might even…like you.”

Kara wasn’t sure why, but she felt a faint warmth rise to her face at that thought. The idea of Lena Luthor liking her was irrelevant to the mission, and yet Jack’s tone made it sound oddly significant. She cleared her throat. “I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe, Mr. Spheer.”

Jack managed a smile. “I believe you will. And please—call me Jack. After all this, I suspect we’ll be on first-name terms.”

He extended his hand. Kara accepted it with a firm shake. His palm was cold with sweat. “Jack,” she said, “you should prepare yourself as well. If this works perfectly, Lena will never know we were involved, which means you might never get credit for helping her. Are you alright with that?”

Jack actually let out a short, strained laugh. “Credit? I couldn’t care less about credit. If she’s safe and none the wiser, that’s the ideal outcome. I’m not doing this to be a hero in her eyes. I’m doing it because…because I love her, frankly. Even if it’s not the way I once did, I can’t imagine a world without her in it.”

The raw honesty of his confession left a hush in the hallway. Kara felt a pang of empathy for Jack Spheer. There was no denying the devotion in his voice. He was risking Lena’s possible anger and betrayal if she ever found out, all because he couldn’t stand by and watch her risk herself. It struck a chord in Kara—an uncomfortable one. She wondered if she’d ever had someone who’d do the same for her. Alex, perhaps. But outside of family? The thought drifted away as Alex cleared her throat.

“Alright,” Alex said briskly, business-like now that the decision had been made. “Jack, my team will need any information you can give us: copies of the threats, details on Lena’s schedule, known enemies or suspects you’ve considered. We’ll dig into the intel as well. But for now, you should leave the rest to us. We’ll contact you if we require anything further. Otherwise, you’ll hear from us once Kara is in position or if there’s an emergency.”

Jack nodded. “Of course. I’ll have my head of security discreetly forward all the threat documentation we’ve collected to you within the hour. And I’ll personally write up what I know of her routines and habits that might help.” He gave Kara an earnest look. “She’s a creature of habit even when she pretends not to be. There’s a coffee shop called Petersham Roast near her lab where she turns up around 11 each morning, like clockwork—she thinks no one notices. That might be a good place for a…chance encounter.”

Kara filed that away. “Noted.”

Alex unfolded her arms, resting her hands on her hips. The tension in her posture hadn’t eased, but she was moving forward. “You’ll get our secure contact info. And Jack—remember, after this, you must never mention DEO’s involvement to anyone, Lena most of all. Even if things end badly and she’s furious…especially then. Understood?”

Jack’s face fell slightly at the notion of things ending badly, but he nodded. “Understood. I’ll take this secret to my grave if I have to.” He hesitated, then added softly, “I truly hope it won’t come to that, for any of us.”

“So do we,” Kara replied. Her voice was gentle, but there was steely determination beneath it.

With that, Jack seemed satisfied he’d done all he could for now. He thanked them again quietly, and Alex escorted him to the elevator bank at the end of the hall, leaving Kara alone for a moment. Kara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline slowly ebbing as reality settled on her shoulders. She had just volunteered to step back into a role she’d sworn never to play again.

She flexed her left hand, noticing that it had curled into a fist at her side. Opening it, she forced herself to breathe evenly. It’s just another mission, she told herself. A protection detail in plain clothes. You’ve done harder things. But that didn’t fully convince the knot of anxiety forming beneath her ribs. This wasn’t like anything she’d done in years. Not since she’d quit the CIA’s game of masks and assumed her own face again. Now she was about to put on another mask, lie to an innocent woman, and walk the knife’s edge between earning Lena’s trust and betraying it.

Alex’s footsteps echoed as she returned down the corridor, face unreadable. She stopped in front of Kara, close enough that their height difference (Alex was a couple of inches shorter) forced her to tilt her head up. For a moment, neither spoke. There was only the distant sound of the operations hub—murmured voices, the faint bleep of a radar update.

Finally, Alex sighed. “You’re really doing this,” she said—a statement, not a question.

Kara nodded. “I am.”

Alex pressed her lips together, then jerked her head towards the hub. “Then let’s get to work. Briefing room in five.”

*

The DEO’s briefing room was a circular chamber lined with screens and interactive displays. As Kara slipped inside, she caught the familiar scent of the space: old coffee, electronics, and a whiff of ozone from all the hardware. It was a comforting smell in its own way—this was the war room where they planned operations down to the finest detail, where logic and strategy reigned over emotion. Kara needed that clarity now.

Alex stood at the head of the oval table in the centre of the room, tapping a tablet that sent documents flickering onto the main wall display. A rotating carousel of images appeared: surveillance stills of men in suits coming through an airport, a few grainy photos of a woman who had to be Lena Luthor striding out of a building, lines of dossier text next to each. Kara saw Lena’s name on one file header, and below it another name that set her teeth on edge: Edge Technologies. The image attached was a corporate logo—stylized letters “EDGE” in bold font.

“Edge Tech,” Alex said, noticing Kara’s eyes on that part of the screen. “We’ve been digging since Jack first contacted us yesterday. We didn’t know who his friend was until he arrived and told us, but once he mentioned L-Corp and threats, it wasn’t hard to guess who might be behind them. Morgan Edge’s fingerprints are all over this, at least indirectly.”

Kara pulled out a chair and sat, leaning forward with elbows on the table. The screens’ glow cast sharp shadows on her face. “Morgan Edge… the fossil fuel mogul?” she asked. She had a vague recall of the name—a notoriously ruthless billionaire with a stranglehold on oil shipping routes and a habit of crushing anything that challenged his empire.

Alex nodded. Her professional demeanor was firmly in place now, emotions banked. “Edge’s conglomerate has funneled a lot of money into lobbying against renewable energy initiatives in the EU and UK. We traced shell companies linked to Edge Tech donating to every major climate change denial front and anti-clean-tech PAC in Europe. Lena Luthor and L-Corp are developing tech that could render much of Edge’s business obsolete within a decade, if it scales like it promises to. If anyone has motive to want her out of the picture, it’s him.”

Kara studied one of the photos on screen: a candid shot of Lena at what looked like an outdoor café table, sunglasses on, dark hair pulled back in a loose knot. It might have been from a distance by a private investigator or paparazzi. The thought that someone might have been stalking her already made Kara’s jaw tighten. “Do we have evidence that Edge has moved from lobbying to direct threats?”

“Nothing rock-solid tying him personally,” Alex admitted. She swiped to a different image—a scan of a letter composed of cut-out newspaper letters like a cliché ransom note. “The threats themselves were amateur-hour in presentation, deliberately so to appear like extremist cranks. But the phrasing in a couple suggests knowledge of her schedule and projects that aren’t public. Whoever wrote them has insider info or resources. Edge has resources. And zero qualms about crossing lines.” Alex then brought up grainy CCTV captures—the ones Kara had noticed of men at an airport. “We flagged two individuals entering the UK in the past two months who raise red flags. This first guy—” she highlighted a tall, broad-shouldered man with a military haircut exiting Heathrow baggage claim “—is ex-Brazilian special forces, discharged under murky circumstances, currently on payroll of a private security contractor known to do dirty work for oil companies in South America. The second—” she pointed to the next image, a slimmer man with a duffel bag “—used to work for a Russian paramilitary group that got disbanded. Both are technically clean on paper right now, just tourists on holiday. But they arrived within a week of each other, and our contacts say they’ve been quietly inquiring around for short-term work. The kind that pays extremely well and doesn’t involve a paper trail.”

Kara felt a cold certainty settle in her gut. “Hired guns.”

Alex tapped the tablet, and the screen went dark, leaving only the dim ambient light. “That’s our working theory. Edge or an associate could’ve hired them to plan something more ‘decisive’ than scary letters. If Lena won’t scare easily, the next step might be to remove her altogether or sabotage her work in a way that ensures she falls with it.”

A silence stretched. Kara realized her hand had drifted to rub absently at the scar on her shoulder. She forced it back down to the table. “Do we know their current whereabouts in London?” she asked, referring to the two suspects.

“We’re tracking discreetly through financials and contacts. One of them rented a flat in Battersea. The other hasn’t shown up on anything after the airport, but we have eyes out. Unfortunately, once you’re under, we can’t feed you live intel on them without risking exposure.”

Kara pursed her lips. That was going to be the trickiest part—going in blind beyond whatever initial intel she could memorize now. If those men made a move, she’d have to notice with her own eyes or ears in real time. It upped the stakes considerably. “No comms means no cavalry,” she murmured.

Alex met her eyes. “That’s right. If you get into trouble, you’ll have to get yourself out or find a way to alert us that won’t blow your cover. Once you step into Lena’s life, Kara, the DEO can’t openly exist to you until this is over.” Her tone was firm, but Kara could hear the thread of worry woven through it.

Kara gave a single, slow nod. “Good. That’s how it has to be.” She managed a slight smirk, aiming to lighten the heaviness between them. “Wouldn’t be much of an undercover mission if I had you whispering in my ear the whole time, would it?”

Alex did not smile. She crossed to the table and sank down into the chair beside Kara. Reaching out, she put a hand over Kara’s for a brief moment. The gesture surprised Kara—Alex was rarely so openly demonstrative during work, but here in the privacy of the briefing room she allowed it. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful. If it feels like it’s spiraling out of control, get out. I don’t care what stage the mission is in. Nothing is worth…” She trailed off, unable to say “losing you” aloud.

Kara turned her hand palm-up to squeeze Alex’s in return. The touch conveyed what words didn’t: I’ll come back. I’m not going to break my promise. It had to be enough.

Alex cleared her throat and straightened, withdrawing her hand and picking the tablet back up like she’d only momentarily set it down. “Alright. We have seventy-two hours or less to get everything in place. That includes building your cover story from scratch, finishing our intel sweep, and prepping any equipment you areallowed to carry.”

“Minimal equipment,” Kara recited, already planning. “Fake ID perhaps, though if I’m using my name, just a plausible personal ID and writer credentials. Maybe some lightweight surveillance gear I can hide—a phone with a custom secure operating system, a button camera or two I can plant somewhere if needed.”

Alex’s brows knitted. “The more gadgets you bring, the more points of failure or discovery.”

“I know. I’ll be smart about it.” Kara tilted her head. “Perhaps just the phone with our encryption and one very well-concealed earpiece for emergencies. Not for constant use, but in case I need to break radio silence. I could hide the earpiece until needed.”

Alex considered it. “We’ll design one that looks like a standard hearing aid or earbud. Something that won’t draw attention if she spots it. Keep it off unless absolutely necessary, and only transmit short-burst if you do, to avoid detection.”

“Agreed.” Kara allowed herself to slip into the familiar rhythm of operational planning. It steadied her nerves to focus on practicalities. “I’ll also carry a panic button of some sort—a little beacon I can trigger if things really go south. It could send a silent alert with my location to you. I can sew it into my jacket or wear it as a pendant.”

Alex’s mouth twitched, the hint of a proud smile threatening. This was Kara in her element, and seeing it must have reassured her on some level. “We can do that. Brainy will rig something up that’s innocuous. Maybe a key fob that doubles as a distress signal.”

“Perfect.” Kara took a breath. “What about a weapon?”

Alex grimaced. “That’s tricky. Firearms are out of the question—you’d need permits in the UK, and if Lena ever saw it, you’d have a lot of explaining to do. Same goes for anything obviously military. At most, maybe a small knife you can justify carrying if discovered. Better you rely on hand-to-hand and improvised solutions if trouble hits.”

Kara nodded without hesitation. “Understood. I’ve handled worse unarmed.” A flicker of memory: her hands around the cold neck of a rifle, then dropping it to drag a wounded teammate through the snow… She pushed it aside. This would be different. Hopefully.

They spent the next hour sketching out the bones of Kara’s cover story. Kara Danvers, 32, freelance journalist-turned-novelist. A Californian by birth (truth), educated at Stanford (lie, but close enough to her real life that she could fake it), a few minor bylines at online magazines (Brainy would create those and backdate them on the internet for verisimilitude). Currently “between projects” but ostensibly working on a novel set in the world of renewable energy tech—hence her interest in Lena Luthor’s field. That would be her excuse to approach Lena: a fangirl of science, seeking insight from one of the leading minds in the field for her fiction. It had just enough flattery and intellectual substance that Lena might give her the time of day.

By the time they adjourned, Kara’s head was buzzing with details she needed to memorize and roles she needed to play. Alex had tasked a small trusted sub-team to handle the digital legend creation at once. Jack’s intel had already arrived in a secure file, which Kara skimmed: Lena’s known daily routines, her inner circle (which was scant—aside from Jack, only a personal assistant and her security chief interacted closely day-to-day), and copies of the threat letters and emails. Kara read one of the printed letters, jaw clenching at the ugly, cut-and-paste slurs and the final line: “Die, witch.” Whoever wrote it had a flair for the dramatic, but the malice was real. Another email simply said “Pretty little lab. Shame if it blew up. Tick-tock, Dr. Luthor.” Kara felt a simmer of anger. She hardly knew Lena, but the thought of someone terrorising a brilliant young woman out of spite or greed lit a familiar fire of protectiveness in her chest.

It was near evening by the time the initial planning frenzy calmed. Alex had left to coordinate the forging of physical IDs and to double-check travel arrangements. Brainy was coding up the last of Kara’s fabricated journalism portfolio. They were operating like clockwork, as always, and Kara knew everything would be in place on schedule.

That left Kara herself with a rare moment of stillness amid preparation. She found she didn’t like it. Standing alone in her small office next to the briefing room, she stared at the open suitcase on her desk. A neat pile of clothes sat beside it—unassuming sweaters, jeans, a battered leather jacket. Civilian clothes suitable for a writer’s wardrobe. She had yet to pack them. In fact, she’d done everything to keep busy except that simple task. Packing made it real. Packing meant in a matter of hours she’d be on a plane to London, alone, slipping into a new life.

Kara rubbed her eyes. The adrenaline of the day had ebbed, leaving a bone-deep fatigue that had less to do with physical exhaustion and more to do with the weight of what came next. Automatically, her fingers found the ridge of scar tissue through her shirt again. Was it her imagination, or did it burn a little now, even in the warmth of the office? Ghosts don’t sleep, she thought, unbidden. Her ghosts certainly didn’t—they were wide awake, reminding her of every reason she should be afraid to do this.

Seeking relief from her own thoughts, Kara left the office and headed up two flights of metal stairs to the rooftop gym. The DEO’s building was discreet on the outside, just another anonymous structure in the city, but inside it housed everything their small organisation needed—including a training area that opened onto a flat rooftop. At this hour, it was deserted. The lights of the city beyond were just starting to glitter in the twilight.

Kara didn’t bother turning on the overhead fluorescents. She liked the semi-darkness, the way the shadows blurred the edges of the space. She went straight to the suspended heavy punching bag that hung in one corner by the open-air section of the gym. Without overthinking it, she stripped off her jacket and tossed it aside, leaving her in a grey tank top. She wrapped her hands quickly in cloth, a practiced ritual, and then set upon the bag.

Her first punch was tentative, testing her tight shoulder. A jolt of dull pain answered—her scar’s habitual complaint. Good, she thought. She welcomed the pain. It anchored her in her body, in the present moment. Kara began a steady rhythm: left jab, right cross, left hook… The bag swung and creaked on its chain, each strike echoing softly. Her breath found a cadence with the blows. Within minutes, sweat warmed her muscles and her mind fell blessedly quiet.

Here, in the raw physical exertion, was one of the only places Kara felt truly clear. When she was fighting, even just a bag, the nightmares receded. Her brain focused on footwork, on angles, on the satisfying thud of impact. Jab, cross, hook. The sequence repeated, faster, harder. She imagined each punch smashing through her self-doubt, her guilt, her fear.

But inevitably, as her body pushed toward its limits, flashes of memory started to bleed in at the edges of her vision. The gym fell away in a haze as another place tried to superimpose itself: a blizzard night, whipping winds, her hands slick with someone’s blood…

Kara snarled under her breath and threw a vicious right hook that nearly tore the bag from its mount. The bag swung wildly. She steadied it with both gloved hands, panting. Her shoulder screamed in protest now, and she realized she had been punching far longer, and far more furiously, than she intended. Her knuckles throbbed even through the wrap.

She pressed her forehead to the worn leather of the bag, eyes squeezed shut. Her pulse thundered in her ears. In the darkness behind her eyelids, shapes moved—figures in the snow. She saw Jensen, one of her old team, giving her a thumbs-up just before they breached that factory door. Then that image was replaced by Jensen’s body lying twisted in crimson-stained snow. Kara’s eyes snapped open, a small involuntary cry escaping her lips. She shoved herself back from the bag, breathing hard, willing the hallucination away.

“It’s not real,” she whispered to herself. “Not now. Not here.”

The rooftop was silent, save for her ragged breaths. Above, a few early stars pricked the indigo sky. Kara dragged the back of her hand across her damp brow and forced oxygen into her lungs slowly: count of four in, hold, count of four out. The techniques Alex’s therapist friend had taught her, not that she used them often. Eventually, the roaring in her ears subsided, and the ghosts slunk back to whatever corner of her mind they inhabited when she wasn’t looking.

Kara unwound the hand wraps, flexing her tingling fingers. The angry energy that had propelled her was gone, leaving a hollowness behind. What the hell am I doing? she wondered. She had volunteered without fully consulting her trauma, it seemed. That spectre was still with her, as intense as ever. Could she truly walk into a high-stakes undercover mission with her hands shaking from old nightmares? If Alex had witnessed that little breakdown, she’d pull the plug in an instant.

But Alex wasn’t here. Only Kara and her doubts. Kara set her jaw. I can do this, she insisted internally. She had pushed through fear before. She knew how to compartmentalize—how to turn herself into whatever the mission required. It was the after that usually hurt, when you took the mask off. She would deal with that later. If she could keep Lena alive, it would be worth the cost.

She grabbed a towel from a rack and wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Her reflection in the dark window glass caught her eye briefly—a tall, lean figure backlit by city lights, blonde hair coming loose from its tie, eyes shining with a hard light. She looked a little wild, she realized. Like a ghost herself, something caught between past and present. Kara turned away from the reflection. She didn’t want to examine herself too closely right now.

After a quick shower and change into clean clothes, Kara found that the restlessness clawing at her had only dulled, not disappeared. Night had fully fallen. If she went back to her apartment, she doubted she’d get any sleep in her current state. And she needed to clear her head to make space for the role she’d soon inhabit.

There was one place she could go where no one would expect her to talk, think, or be “Agent Danvers” at all—a place where she could just exist quietly among strangers and the dim comfort of routine.

John’s Bar didn’t have a fancy name—just the neon outline of a shamrock in the window and the word Pubhalf-lit beside it. It was a deliberately unremarkable hole-in-the-wall down a side street a few blocks from the DEO building. Kara had stumbled upon it a couple of years ago when she’d needed a stiff drink and anonymity, and the owner, John, had provided both without question. Over time, he’d become something like a friend, or at least a steady presence who knew a bit about her line of work and didn’t push. She suspected he had some military or intelligence background himself—he had the bearing of someone who’d seen things—but he never spoke of it directly. What mattered was that his bar was sanctuary.

Kara entered the pub and was greeted by the familiar haze of warm air tinged with whiskey, wood polish, and a faint trace of smoke that clung to the rafters from years past when indoor smoking was still legal. The place was nearly empty at this late mid-week hour. A couple of regulars nursed their pints in silence at one end, and a tired-eyed woman read a book in a booth.

John was behind the bar polishing a glass. He looked up as Kara slid onto her usual stool. He was a tall black man in his fifties with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and kind, discerning eyes. Those eyes flicked over Kara in a quick assessment, taking in her slightly hunched shoulders and the tension she carried.

“You’re early,” John remarked in his deep voice, with a hint of an accent Kara had never placed—something Caribbean, maybe.

Kara managed a faint smirk. “No op tonight.” That was as much explanation as she ever gave for her appearances here: if she showed up, it usually meant she wasn’t on an active mission that very moment. It was their code of sorts.

John raised an eyebrow as if to say that remains to be seen. He pulled a glass from beneath the counter and poured two fingers of amber liquid without needing to ask her order. Kara appreciated that. Talking about what she needed or why she was here would just unravel the fragile thread keeping her composure.

She wrapped her hand around the glass. The whiskey’s smoky scent curled into her nose. She hadn’t realized how chilled she still felt until the warmth of it radiated into her palm.

John leaned on the bar casually. “That’s the problem, isn’t it,” he rumbled, continuing their unspoken conversation. “No operation tonight means you’re left alone with…all this.” He gestured vaguely, meaning everything churning inside her.

Kara huffed a quiet breath of wry agreement. She took a sip of the whiskey; it burned in a way that was more comfort than pain. “Something like that,” she murmured.

John nodded, as if she’d spoken volumes. The man had an uncanny ability to read between the lines. He didn’t pry for details, never had. But he also didn’t sugarcoat what he observed. “So,” he said, wiping an invisible spot on the counter, “you’re spinning up again. Another mission.”

It wasn’t really a question. Kara’s silence was answer enough. She stared at the golden liquid in her glass, rolling it gently to watch it catch the low light. “A tough one,” she admitted after a moment. There was no harm in saying that much.

John grunted. “They’re all tough with you. Different kind of tough this time?”

Kara considered that. “Old kind,” she said finally. “The kind I haven’t done in a long time.”

John’s cleaning rag stilled. He studied her face, and she knew he’d put the pieces together. He’d known her long enough to guess at what haunted her. “Undercover, is it?” he asked, voice low.

Kara gave the slightest nod. Her throat felt tight suddenly, and she chased the sensation down with another swallow of whiskey.

John exhaled slowly, a sigh that was almost lost under the muted sound of a blues song crackling from the jukebox. “Thought so. You got that look about you. Like you’re already half gone.”

She winced at his words. She hadn’t expected them to sting, but they did. Was it so obvious? “I’m still here,” she said quietly. A bit defensive, a bit pleading.

He gave a gentle shake of his head. “Physically, sure. But I see it in your eyes, Kara. You’re gearing up to be someone else. To disappear. Whenever you do that, a piece of you doesn’t come back.”

Kara’s fingers tightened around her glass. “I always come back,” she whispered. It was true—she was sitting here, wasn’t she? Alive, functional, mission-ready. Perhaps more frayed than before, but back nonetheless.

John’s dark eyes softened. He leaned forward and spoke in a low tone meant only for her. “Yeah. You come back. But I see the toll it takes. A little less of you makes it home each time.”

Kara’s chest constricted. Trust John to articulate the very thing she refused to admit to herself. She fought the urge to argue, to insist she was fine. Instead, she drained the rest of the whiskey in one go, feeling the fire of it spread through her belly. She set the empty glass down with a firm tap.

“Just…try not to lose too much this time, eh?” John said gently as he picked up the glass. It was the closest he would come to saying be careful.

Kara mustered a faint smile. “I’ll do my best.”

He refilled her glass halfway, then moved down the bar to give her some space. That was why she liked this place—no one hovered over you here, pressing into your business. You could just exist and the world would respectfully keep its distance for a while.

Kara sipped the second pour slowly, letting the alcohol warm and loosen the knot inside her. She listened absently to the scratchy blues tune, the murmurs of the other patrons, the clink of John washing up. Here, she wasn’t a commander or a soldier or a liar. She was just another soul seeking a brief respite from the cold.

After the second drink, she waved off John from pouring a third. She needed to keep her wits about her—tomorrow (no, today, she realized, glancing at the clock nearing midnight) she would be traveling and stepping straight into her cover. A hangover or dulled senses would not do.

Instead, she switched to water and allowed her mind to idly scroll through what she knew of Lena Luthor, almost as a mental exercise to see if she could recall it all under slight intoxication. Lena Kieran Luthor, PhD x2, brilliant beyond measure, head of L-Corp. Younger than Kara by a few years. Green eyes, black hair—at least in her photos—often pulled back tight, a sign of control. Prefers black clothing. No known romantic partner since a breakup with Jack Spheer some years ago, which had been quiet but tabloids sniffed it out eventually. Estranged from her half-brother Lex Luthor (yes, that Lex Luthor, currently rotting in prison, if Kara remembered right). Essentially orphaned aside from that—mother deceased, father who knew where. Lena had a reputation for being guarded, even reclusive outside of professional appearances. People who worked with her described her as fair, if demanding; press painted her as enigmatic and a bit aloof. Not a woman who opened up easily by any measure.

Yet something in those interviews Kara had read—a quote from Lena about science and hope—had struck Kara as surprisingly heartfelt. “Some people call me a cynic,” Lena had said to TIME, “but I’m not. If I were, I wouldn’t be doing any of this. I believe humanity can change for the better. I just think we have to force the issue by giving them no other choice.” Kara remembered nodding at that line. It was the kind of blunt pragmatism she understood. Beneath Lena’s guarded exterior was clearly a well of conviction and, yes, hopefor a better world. She just wasn’t naive about it. Kara found herself respecting Lena deeply, even before meeting her. And that made the sting of what she was about to do a little sharper. Lena Luthor deserved honesty and loyalty; instead Kara would be offering lies wrapped in kindness.

“Would you want to know, if you were her?” Kara murmured to herself, tracing the rim of her water glass with a fingertip. It was an idle thought that escaped into words. Luckily no one was near enough to hear or care. Kara imagined if the roles were reversed—if someone embedded themselves into her life for her protection without her knowledge. Would she forgive them if she discovered the deceit?

She closed her eyes. It was too hard to transpose that scenario. She never allowed anyone close enough for it to matter, except Alex, and Alex would never lie to her in that way. Or so she believed.

With a soft grunt, Kara slid off the barstool, leaving payment and a generous tip under her glass. John glanced over. “Heading out?”

She nodded. “Duty calls.”

John inclined his head. “Godspeed then, Kara.” In that simple farewell was everything he wished for her: safety, luck, a return.

She managed a brief, grateful smile. “Take care, John.”

Outside, the night air was biting cold. Kara pulled up the zipper of her jacket and started the short walk back to her apartment. The city was quiet at this late hour, the streetlights casting orange halos on slick pavements. Her breath fogged in front of her. In the stillness, she almost felt like the only person awake in the world. A ghost drifting through sleeping streets.

When she reached her flat—a small, sparse place she kept mostly for sleeping and storing civilian clothes—she didn’t bother turning on more than a single lamp. She spent the next hour methodically packing the items she’d laid out earlier, now with a clearer head. Each piece went into the carry-on suitcase with precision. A paperback novel (for show, and to further the writer image), a stack of notebooks (one of which contained bullet points of questions and topics to discuss with Lena, carefully curated to appear curious but not stalkerish), her laptop, chargers, a toiletry bag, a lightweight first aid kit (old habits), the false business cards identifying her as a freelance journalist.

By 3 AM, she was done. The suitcase stood by the door, zippered and ready. On top of it sat her passport and a slim leather folio containing the cover documents. A London guidebook peeked out of the front pocket—Kara smirked at that little touch Alex had added, to make her look like someone excitedly new to the city. In truth, Kara had been to London a handful of times on missions, but never as a tourist. This time she would have to play the part of one. Perhaps she would even have to let herself enjoy small pieces of it, to sell the lie. The thought was strangely foreign.

Kara rubbed her eyes, feeling the lateness of the hour settling in her bones. She debated lying down for what remained of the night, but suspected sleep wouldn’t come. She was too wired, mind already running simulations of tomorrow’s introduction. Hello, you’re Lena Luthor, aren’t you? I’m Kara, big fan of your work—Ugh, that sounded ridiculous. She grimaced. She’d need to be more subtle. Perhaps she’d accidentally bump into Lena, spill coffee and apologize, then strike up a conversation. Or maybe comment on a book Lena was reading, if she had one. It had to feel natural. Too contrived and Lena’s guard would go up.

She paced her living room, rehearsing various greetings under her breath, none of which felt right. After a while, she sighed and sank onto her sofa, pulling a throw blanket around her shoulders. She picked up her phone to check messages—mostly updates from Alex about flight check-in and a reminder to destroy the phone once she switched to the cover phone. One new text was from Alex directly: Awake? sent a few minutes ago.

Kara’s lips twitched. Leave it to Alex to sense she wouldn’t be sleeping. She tapped the call button. Alex picked up halfway through the first ring.

“You’re awake,” Alex said. She sounded weary, as if she hadn’t slept either. Perhaps she was still at DEO HQ or at her own place, pacing like Kara.

“Technically,” Kara replied, voice wry. She curled up on the end of the sofa, tucking her feet under the blanket.

“Everything ready?” Alex’s tone was brisk, but there was a tightness beneath it.

Kara glanced at the packed bag by the door. “Just about. I’ll head to the airfield at dawn.” They’d opted to use one of DEO’s discretely-charted flights to insert her under the radar rather than a commercial flight, just in case anyone was watching for her name. It would land at a smaller airport in England, and from there she’d take a train into London like any ordinary traveler.

“I wish I could be there with you,” Alex admitted softly. “At least until you’re settled.”

“I know. But you can’t. Lena might recognize you, Director Danvers.” Kara injected a light tease in her voice, trying to ease her sister’s worry. “Besides, I’m a big girl.”

Alex was quiet for a moment on the other end. When she spoke again, her voice had that gentle firmness that Kara associated with bedtime talks when they were young. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. Not to me, not to anyone. If you’re doing this because you feel like you owe something—”

“I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do,” Kara cut in, more sharply than intended. She immediately softened her tone. “If we don’t help her, no one else will. You said it yourself. I can help her, Alex. So I must.”

“Ever the hero complex,” Alex murmured, a mix of affection and resignation. “Alright. Just…be careful. Be smart.”

Kara smiled faintly. “Those are basically my two middle names.”

A weak laugh came through the phone. “Liar. Your middle name is Zor-El, and we both know caution was never your strong suit.”

Kara chuckled. It felt good to share a light moment, a tiny crack in the tension. “Fine. But I have gotten smarter with age.”

“That you have,” Alex agreed softly. Another pause. Then, “Are you sure about this, Kara?”

Kara glanced around her dim living room. There was no turning back now that plans were in motion. But was she sure? She searched within herself for a moment. Fear was there, yes, and uncertainty. But beneath it, a kind of quiet resolve had settled. Oddly, a part of her felt almost…drawn forward, like a tide she couldn’t resist. “No,” Kara answered honestly. “I’m not sure. But I think that’s a good sign.”

Alex made a puzzled sound. “How could your uncertainty possibly be a good sign?”

Kara leaned her head back against the sofa, closing her eyes. “Because if I were completely confident, it would mean I’m being cocky or naive. The fact I’m unsure means I’m acknowledging this is real. It means it matters.” She opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. “I should have doubts. It’ll keep me careful.”

Alex was silent for a beat. “Leave it to you to find logic in that. Alright. I’ll accept that answer.” Her voice grew a touch thicker. “I’ll be here, you know. However you need me—once you can need me again. Even if that’s just afterwards.”

“I know.” Kara felt warmth and sadness mingled. She didn’t say thank you—they didn’t need to—but it was there. Instead she said, “Go get some rest, Alex. I’ll be wheels up in a few hours. I’ll check in from the other side once I’m…settled in character.”

“Make it via the secure text on your cover phone, not a call,” Alex reminded her. “Just a single code word so I know you’re safe.”

“I remember. I’ll text ‘sunrise’ when I’m in position.”

“Got it.” Alex hesitated. “Goodnight, Kara.”

“Goodnight,” Kara replied softly, knowing it might be the last time she heard her sister’s voice for a while. She hung up and sat in the silence for a long moment, letting reality sink in fully. By this time tomorrow, she would be someone else to everyone around her. Only in the quiet of her own thoughts could she still be Kara Danvers, and even that person was a bit fractured lately.

She eventually stood and went to the bathroom to splash water on her face, then changed into fresh clothes for travel: comfortable jeans, boots, a soft navy jumper. She braided her damp hair loosely down her back. The physical routine settled her nerves somewhat. Checking the clock, she saw it was nearly 5 AM—close enough to dawn. Sleep was a lost cause. She might as well head to the airfield early. Perhaps the crisp morning air would jolt her fully awake.

Kara shrugged on her well-worn leather jacket—the same one she’d wear as part of her cover wardrobe—and hefted her carry-on. She gave her flat a final once-over. It was tidy as ever, barely any personal effects to speak of. She lived spartanly, as someone always ready to leave. No wonder it never truly felt like home, she mused.

She flipped off the lights and pulled the door shut, locking it. There were no goodbyes to say in person. Alex would likely already be at HQ again by now, monitoring her departure remotely. Kara preferred it that way; face-to-face farewells only made leaving harder.

Outside, the eastern sky had the first streaks of pale grey. Dawn was creeping in, the streetlamps still aglow but unnecessary. A lone bird chirped somewhere. Kara took a deep breath of the cold morning air. Her breath plumed, and she watched it dissipate. It was time.

She climbed into the waiting sedan that DEO had arranged and soon was on the way to the private airfield outside the city. As they drove, Kara gazed out the window. The city she knew slipped past, gradually giving way to highway and then the open expanse of the small airport. In the east, the sun finally edged over the horizon, a weak winter sunrise that painted the sky in bands of pink and gold.

Boarding the tiny jet that would ferry her across the Atlantic (or halfway across, at least), Kara felt the final vestiges of hesitation fall from her. Once more unto the breach. Only this time she wasn’t armed to the teeth or backed by a platoon of fellow soldiers. She was armed with a lie and backed only by her own resolve. In a way, it was more frightening. But it was also oddly liberating. If she succeeded, no one would ever know—her triumph would be quiet, shared only with herself and her team. If she failed… the cost would be borne by her alone. She would see to that.

The jet’s engines roared to life. Kara buckled herself into a window seat and watched the ground peel away as the plane ascended into pale morning light. Below, the world shrank to a patchwork of fields and roads, then disappeared under a layer of cloud. Kara leaned her head against the window. The hum of the engines was steady, lulling. For the first time in two days, she closed her eyes without images of blood or snow assaulting her. Instead, a different face emerged from the haze of her thoughts—a face she’d only seen in pictures and on screens, but that her mind was already busy conjuring in greater detail. Lena Luthor. Kara found herself wondering what she might be doing at this very moment. Still asleep in her London penthouse? Awake early to work out equations or check news? Was she worried, scared, or utterly composed in the face of danger? The files painted her as controlled, but perhaps in quiet moments the mask fell. Kara realized she would soon find out. She wasn’t sure why that notion fluttered in her stomach.

She opened her eyes and stared out at the endless expanse of clouds and sky. Lena’s face floated in her mind’s eye—sharp features, piercing eyes, a hint of a guarded smile. Kara had not met her yet, but in a few hours she would walk into a café and change that. She felt anticipation tug at her—nerves, yes, but also curiosity. Lena Luthor was about to become Kara’s whole world for the foreseeable future.

Kara placed a hand over her jacket pocket, feeling the outline of a folded piece of paper there. It was a printout of one of Lena’s threat letters that she had impulsively taken with her. She wasn’t sure why—perhaps as a reminder of why she was doing this. To keep that ugliness from becoming reality. To shield a brilliant light from being snuffed out by darkness. That purpose she understood. That purpose she could hold onto if things got murky.

As the jet arced over the ocean, Kara allowed herself one whispered admission, a promise released into the empty cabin. “If this works,” she murmured to the window, her breath fogging the glass slightly, “she’ll never know I was ever more than a friendly stranger.” That was the ideal outcome: Lena safe, blissfully unaware of the danger that passed, and Kara fading back out of her life once it was done.

She leaned back and closed her eyes again, imagining that future—Lena continuing her work, unburdened, perhaps remembering Kara Danvers fondly as a brief acquaintance, never guessing what Kara really was. That would be enough for Kara. It had to be.

But a small voice in Kara’s mind—the part of her that could not stop analyzing outcomes—added a corollary. And it escaped her lips in a soft exhale, barely audible over the drone of the engines: “And if it doesn’t… if I fail… she might never forgive me.”

Kara’s eyes remained closed, but a solitary tear escaped from the corner of one, trailing down to her jaw. She wasn’t even sure what the tear was for—for the teammates she lost, for the innocence she was about to steal from Lena, or for the piece of herself that might be lost by the end of this. Perhaps all of it.

She wiped it away and opened her eyes to the brightening sky. No more doubts. The die was cast, and morning had broken. Ghosts don’t sleep, and neither would she—not until Lena Luthor was safe, come what may. With that thought steel in her heart, Kara Danvers flew onward, toward a lie she prayed would save a life.

Chapter Text

Morning light sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lena Luthor’s corner office, glinting off glass and steel. She sat unnaturally still at her desk, spine straight, manicured hands folded atop a neat stack of reports. On the surface Lena was the picture of composed efficiency—coldly elegant, her critics said, and she wouldn’t disagree. But under the polished façade, a dull headache pressed at her temples. She allowed herself one slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the computer monitor’s brightness stabbed at her tired eyes. A line of bold text lingered in her mind’s eye even after she looked away: “…we will make you pay, witch.”

Lena exhaled and opened her eyes. The threatening email still glowed on the screen in front of her, its hateful words stark against a white background. Delete it, she told herself for the dozenth time. Yet she hadn’t. Instead, here she was, reading it again. Her jaw tightened, and she clicked the window closed with a decisiveness that sent a pang through her head. Dwelling on that garbage gave it too much power. She had a company to run, a world to save—no time to indulge fear.

She straightened a paper on her desk that didn’t need straightening. Beyond the glass walls of her office, L-Corp’s London research lab hummed with activity. Engineers in white coats passed by on their way to labs; keyboards clacked in the open-plan workstations outside. To them, Lena Luthor looked as controlled as ever, reviewing reports at 10:30 on a chilly Tuesday morning. None could have guessed she hadn’t truly slept last night, that she’d spent the early hours pacing her penthouse living room with those threats playing on repeat in her mind. She’d finally come into work early, hoping the familiar rhythm of data and prototypes might steady her nerves. But even here, in the heart of her domain, an uneasy prickle followed her. Paranoia, she nearly scoffed—except she was being watched. Whoever sent those messages claimed to see her every move. Lena refused to let them dictate her life, but the knowledge left a hairline crack in her composure.

A soft knock at the open door drew her attention. Jess, her personal assistant, hovered there with a cautious smile. “Dr. Luthor? I have the updated yield results you wanted.” She stepped in and placed a folder on the desk. Lena caught the subtle flicker of concern in the young woman’s eyes—Jess had likely noticed her boss’s drawn face or the faint shadows under her eyes, despite Lena’s immaculate makeup.

“Thank you,” Lena replied, cool and courteous as ever. She flipped open the folder, forcing herself to focus. Graphs and percentages—her comfort zone. “Hm. Only a 0.4% improvement since last week?”

Jess cleared her throat. “Yes. R&D says the latest prototype is hitting a materials limit. Dr. Murakami suggested a meeting at noon to brainstorm alternatives.”

“Noon,” Lena repeated, eyes still on the graph. A small frown creased the space between her brows. Normally she’d dive right into problem-solving mode. But an insistent ache behind her eyes and a gnawing lack of caffeine were undermining her focus. You’re off your game, a voice needled at her. She shut the folder. “Schedule it. I’ll be there.” A beat, then she added, “And, Jess… could you forward these results to my tablet? I’ll review them in a bit.”

“Of course.” Jess hesitated, then ventured gently, “Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea, maybe?”

Coffee. The mere suggestion caused a wave of longing. Lena normally waited until mid-morning to slip out for her daily dose; the routine of walking to the café provided a rare, precious pocket of calm. She checked her watch—10:45. Close enough. The folder could wait ten minutes. “That’s alright. I’ll take my break and get it myself.”

Jess nodded and didn’t argue—Lena’s insistence on fetching her own coffee was well known. Still, the assistant’s concern broke through. “If you’re sure. I… Um, security wanted me to remind you to take an escort, but I told them you wouldn’t.”

Lena’s lips thinned. Her head of security had been on edge since the threats ramped up; he meant well, but she wouldn’t be shadowed like a helpless target. “Correct. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

With that polite but firm dismissal, Jess departed. Lena rose, smoothing an errant wrinkle from her charcoal-grey sheath dress. In the window’s reflection she caught a glimpse of herself: dark hair swept into a low, precise bun, posture impeccable, face composed into a serene mask. Only she knew about the tiny stress lines at the corners of her eyes and the tension wire pulled taut in her chest. Enough, she chided herself. No cracks. She grabbed her tablet and the slim purse on her credenza, then made her way out.

Crossing the open floor of the lab, Lena moved with her usual brisk grace. A few employees greeted her; she returned their hellos with a tight but genuine smile. Her heels clicked smartly on the polished concrete as she took the elevator down to street level. In the mirrored elevator wall she maintained that cool poise, even as her mind wandered. I won’t let fear change my routine. The mantra had become reflex. If she started hiding, whoever was behind this won. So she would walk out the door, get her coffee, and walk back. Simple.

A blast of frigid London air met her as she stepped outside. She cinched her long black wool coat tighter and started down the block toward Petersham Roast. The January morning was crisp, her breath puffing white in front of her. Pedestrians bustled along the pavement, cheeks pink from the cold. Lena fell in with the flow, each confident stride belying the slight tightness in her chest. She refused to glance over her shoulder, though she was aware—in that inexplicable sixth-sense way—that someone might be watching. It was the same feeling she’d had for days now, an itch between her shoulder blades. Likely nothing. Possibly everything.

As she neared the café, the rich scent of roasted coffee beans cut through the city’s damp chill. The aroma was a small comfort, already easing the knot in her brow. Lena reached the door of Petersham Roast and slipped inside.

The café enveloped her in warmth and the hiss of steaming milk. It was cosy if slightly crowded at this hour, filled with a mix of university students and office workers on coffee breaks. Lena tugged off her leather gloves, flexing her fingers as they adjusted from the cold. The barista behind the counter caught her eye with a familiar nod—Lena was a regular here, enough that they often remembered her usual, even if she refused to call it that.

She joined the short queue and inhaled deeply. The air smelled of espresso, sugar, and comfort. For the first time that morning, Lena felt herself start to unclench. She let her gaze drift while she waited, habitually cataloguing her surroundings. A trio of students in one corner hunched over a laptop; an older man read a newspaper by the window; a blonde woman in a light jumper and jeans sat alone at a tiny table near the middle, typing intently on a laptop with a slight frown of concentration. Lena’s eyes slid over each person without lingering. No one appeared to pay her any undue attention. Perhaps, for a few minutes, she really could be just another patron in need of caffeine.

When her turn came, the barista flashed a quick smile. “Good morning, Dr. Luthor. The usual?”

Lena’s lips twitched with a wry amusement. She seldom acknowledged that word, usual, but today she allowed a tiny nod. “Yes, thank you, Marta.” The fewer decisions she had to make right now, the better. While Marta prepared her flat white—extra shot, a dash of cinnamon—Lena glanced around for an open seat. It was more crowded than she’d anticipated. Her preferred table by the window was taken, as were most others. She sighed inwardly. There were a couple of stools free at the counter, but those were situated with her back to the door, and that she wasn’t in the mood for. She’d rather take the coffee back to the lab than sit exposed.

As she collected her drink from the counter, a voice carried over the general clink and chatter: “Excuse me—”

Lena turned. It was the blonde woman with the laptop. She had stood up from her tiny table and was looking directly at Lena with a tentative smile. Now that she was facing Lena fully, a few details clicked into Lena’s awareness: American accent, long honey-blonde hair loosely gathered in a ponytail, blue eyes behind black-framed glasses, and a posture that hovered between confidence and shyness. The woman gestured to the empty chair across from where she’d been sitting. “Looks like it’s packed. You’re welcome to share my table, if you want.”

For a beat, Lena hesitated. She wasn’t accustomed to strangers offering her a seat—most Londoners kept to themselves, and many who recognised her tended to either stare or studiously avoid eye contact. But this young woman looked guileless enough, blinking up at Lena in polite expectation. Perhaps she truly didn’t know who Lena was, or simply didn’t care. Intriguing.

Lena mustered a gracious smile. “That’s very kind of you.” She appraised the small table: it had just enough room for the woman’s laptop and coffee cup, plus Lena’s drink. An open messenger bag hung off the chair the stranger had offered, and Lena noted a glimpse of notebooks within and a novel with a creased cover. A faint pang of curiosity tugged at her. A student? Journalist? Whoever she was, she appeared harmless. And Lena really didn’t want to retreat back to work just yet. “I’d hate to interrupt your writing,” she added as she stepped over.

The woman immediately moved her bag aside to clear the chair. “No interruption, I promise. I was looking for an excuse to step away from the screen for a minute.” She gave an airy, self-deprecating chuckle. “My eyes will thank you for forcing me to take a break.”

Lena found herself letting out a quieter version of a laugh—a mere soft huff through her nose, but genuine. “In that case, I’m glad to be of service.” She slipped into the chair, setting her tablet down and wrapping her chilled fingers around the warm ceramic of her coffee cup. A peaceful silence fell as both women adjusted—Lena stirring a packet of sugar into her flat white, the stranger closing her laptop partway to be polite.

Up close, Lena noted the American woman’s features: high cheekbones with a dusting of pink from the cold, a small furrow between her brows that suggested deep thought even in stillness. There was something familiarabout her face—though Lena was certain they’d never met. Perhaps it was just that open friendliness, something Lena vaguely associated with Midwestern Americans or fictional characters in feel-good films. It put her oddly at ease. Careful, she reminded herself. She could be anyone. Yet her instincts weren’t sounding any alarms.

“I’m Kara, by the way,” the woman offered suddenly, as if realizing the lapse in introductions. She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and gave another lopsided smile. “Kara Danvers.”

“Lena,” Lena replied, inclining her head. She paused, deliberating internally for a fraction of a second before deciding there was no harm. “Lena Luthor.” If Kara recognised the surname, now would be the tell. Lena watched her face with practiced subtlety.

Kara merely extended a hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, Lena.” No flicker of surprise in those blue eyes, no awkward shift that usually came when her infamous last name registered. Their palms met for a brief shake. Kara’s grip was warm, firm but not overbearing, and Lena had the absurd thought that it felt steadying. It had been a while since she’d shaken a hand that wasn’t clammy with either awe or ulterior motives.

“Likewise,” Lena replied. She withdrew her hand and blew gently on her coffee. A comfortable pause followed. It struck Lena that Kara hadn’t shown a hint of recognition beyond normal politeness. Perhaps she truly didn’t know who she was. The thought was oddly liberating—and a touch disappointing, if she was honest with herself. Your ego has gotten too used to fame, she chastised silently, or infamy. Still, it was nice to be treated normally.

Kara cleared her throat softly. “I hope I wasn’t too forward, offering the seat. I’ve been here for an hour and I was monopolising a whole table. Thought I’d share the wealth.”

“You’re doing your good deed for the day,” Lena replied, lips quirking. She took a tentative sip of her flat white—hot, strong, just right. Perfect. Already the espresso was working its way through her system, taming the tension headache. “And believe me, I appreciate it. I needed the break.”

Kara nodded, studying Lena with a kind of earnest curiosity that didn’t feel invasive. “Long day at work? It’s not even 11.”

A wry smile ghosted over Lena’s mouth. “Long week, really. And it’s only Tuesday.” She hadn’t meant to say that—it sounded close to complaint—but Kara’s sympathetic wince in response oddly encouraged her. “Work has been…intense lately.” That was the understatement of the year.

“I know the feeling,” Kara said. “I’ve been staring at the same paragraph in my manuscript since sunrise. Figured a change of scenery might shake something loose.” She gestured to the laptop and notebooks strewn across the table, a lock of blonde hair slipping over her shoulder as she tilted her head. “Not sure it helped, but at least the coffee is good.”

Lena’s gaze drifted to the woman’s belongings. Now that she looked, she saw a half-filled notebook page in neat handwriting and, next to it, a dog-eared paperback about clean energy solutions. Surprising. “Manuscript, you said? Are you a writer?”

A hint of colour touched Kara’s cheeks, and she gave a modest shrug. “Trying to be. I haven’t published a novel yet or anything. Mostly I’ve done freelance journalism and some magazine pieces, but I’m working on my first book.” She tapped the notebook with her pen. “It’s a bit out of my comfort zone—near-future fiction, involving climate technology. Hence the light reading.” She nodded to the clean energy book.

Lena’s eyebrows lifted in interest. A novelist researching climate tech? How serendipitous. “Near-future climate tech… that’s a coincidence. That happens to be my field.” She offered a polite, close-lipped smile. Still, she didn’t volunteer her job title explicitly—part of her perversely enjoyed the idea of continuing this conversation incognito for as long as possible. “What kind of tech, if I may ask? Are we talking apocalyptic climate disaster, or more optimistic?”

Kara lit up at the question, warming her hands on her mug. “Optimistic, I think. I’m not writing a dystopia, more like… preventing one. The premise is about a breakthrough in carbon capture technology. It’s meant to be suspenseful but with a hopeful angle—showing people racing against time to implement a solution instead of just lamenting everything that’s wrong.” She hesitated, then laughed softly. “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m excited. I promise it’s not as boring as I just made it sound.”

Lena found herself leaning forward, chin propped lightly on her hand. Kara’s ramble had been anything but boring; in fact, it mirrored L-Corp’s own mission uncannily well. “You’d be surprised. That’s exactly the kind of story I’d read. There’s enough cynicism in the world already.”

Something appreciative flickered in Kara’s eyes. “That’s what I figure too. Best case, maybe it inspires a few real scientists along the way. Worst case, it’s just an entertaining thriller.” She paused, then tilted her head, studying Lena with faint curiosity. “So you work in climate tech? I’m jealous—you probably know all the cool bleeding-edge stuff being developed.”

A corner of Lena’s mouth lifted. If only you knew, she thought. “I’m involved, yes. I run a research company,” she said vaguely, still testing whether Kara would put two and two together. “Clean energy, sustainable tech, that sort of thing. We actually have a major carbon capture project in the works.”

Kara’s face brightened in recognition. “Oh! Would that be L-Corp? I read about their work converting carbon to energy. The CEO was on the cover of TIME recently, wasn’t she?” She spoke casually enough, but Lena detected a subtle note of admiration in her voice.

Lena’s heart gave a curious little thump. There it is. A part of her braced for the usual shift in dynamics, the moment Kara would realize the woman sitting across from her was that very CEO. Perhaps she already had—though she still wasn’t gawking or stammering like some did. Lena allowed herself a slight, sly smile. “Yes, that would be L-Corp. And she was, indeed.”

Marta the barista chose that moment to swing by their table with a refill pot. “Top-ups, ladies?” she offered cheerily. “Kara, more tea? And Dr. Luthor, how’s your flat white?”

Kara. Tea. Lena clocked those details vaguely even as her focus sharpened on Marta’s casual use of Dr. Luthor. The barista didn’t realize she might be blowing a cover—after all, Lena had never hidden her identity here. Kara’s eyes widened a fraction behind her glasses as she glanced between Marta and Lena.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Lena replied to Marta, lifting her cup to indicate it was still half full. The barista smiled and moved on, leaving a brief silence in her wake. Lena set the cup down and met Kara’s gaze. The blonde woman looked momentarily flustered, as if she’d stumbled upon something unexpected.

“I—I’m sorry,” Kara said quickly, a hand hovering in an awkward little gesture. “I didn’t realize I was sitting with the Lena Luthor.” Her tone wasn’t reverential or fearful, just politely astonished. “I swear I wasn’t trying to pretend otherwise. I genuinely didn’t recognise you at first.” A rueful chuckle escaped her. “I usually see you in pictures wearing, like, power suits and giving keynote speeches. You look…different in person.”

Lena wasn’t sure whether to laugh or arch a brow. She settled on a light, amused tone. “Let me guess—less frightening?”

Kara’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “No! I mean, you’re not frightening in the photos either. You’re just… a bit more approachable in a coffee shop than on a magazine cover,” she admitted with a disarming honesty. “But I should have known. L-Corp, Lena—my brain is just running on too little sleep.” She offered an apologetic smile and extended her hand a second time, more formally. “It’s an honour, Dr. Luthor. Truly. I’m a big admirer of what your company is doing.”

Lena allowed herself a quiet laugh and clasped Kara’s hand again briefly. She realized she believed Kara—both that she hadn’t recognized her at first, and that her admiration now was sincere. “Just Lena, please. And the honour’s mine; it’s not every day I meet a writer working on a story in my favourite niche.” She leaned back slightly, studying the woman across from her in a new light. Kara Danvers clearly knew of her public persona but hadn’t been intimidated from speaking to her normally—a refreshing change. And those warm blue eyes held no guile Lena could detect, only an earnest enthusiasm that was rather…endearing.

“Alright, just Lena,” Kara replied, playful. She took a sip of her tea—Lena noted it was some herbal blend, not coffee after all—and seemed to relax now that the identity mini-drama had passed. “I have to say, this is a lucky break for me. I came here hoping for inspiration, and look who I bumped into. I’d love to ask you a million questions about the work you’re doing—off the record, of course,” she added hastily. “I mean, not that I’m a journalist-journalist anymore, but I wouldn’t betray any confidences. It would just help me write something real, you know?” Her hands fluttered a bit as she spoke, expressive. She caught herself and grimaced. “Sorry. I get carried away. Please tell me to shut up if I’m being too forward.”

Lena found herself smiling openly now, an expression that felt almost foreign on her face after the stress of recent days. Kara’s babbling was oddly charming. “You’re enthusiastic. It’s fine.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I can’t divulge everything about our projects, obviously. But I can certainly try to answer a few questions if it helps your book. What angle are you going for? Scientific accuracy, or more the human side of the story?”

Relief and gratitude flashed across Kara’s face. “Really? You’d let me pick your brain? That’s incredibly generous.” She set her tea down, and Lena noticed her tapping one finger against the cup’s handle in a subtle rhythm, as if containing excitement. “The human side is my main focus—I want readers to connect with the scientists and engineers as people, not just see them as tech expositional devices. But I also really want to avoid mangling the science. So it’s a balance.”

Lena nodded approvingly. “A noble goal. Too many novels either preach or misinform when it comes to science.” She took another sip of coffee, considering. “Alright, Kara. Ask away—within reason.” Her lips curved. “I have about fifteen minutes before I need to get back to the lab, but I’m all yours until then.”

Kara’s answering smile was bright, nearly brilliant. “Understood.” She flipped open one of her notebooks to a dog-eared page. Lena caught a glimpse of tidy bullet-point questions. Clearly, Miss Danvers was prepared. “Okay, first question—purely hypothetical, of course. If someone developed, say, a new reactor that could turn CO₂ into usable energy at an unprecedented scale… what kind of pushback would they face?”

Lena raised an eyebrow. That was closer to reality than Kara likely knew. “You mean politically? Economically?”

“Both. I’m curious about the real-world stakes. Who would try to stop it, and how far might they go?” Kara asked, then bit her lip. “Sorry if that’s loaded. My story has an antagonist—an oil consortium—trying to sabotage the tech. I want to make their opposition believable.”

At the word sabotage, Lena’s fingers tightened fractionally around her cup. Believable opposition. She thought of hateful emails and hired mercenaries lurking at airports in secret. A small chill prickled her skin that wasn’t from the weather. Steadying herself, Lena answered carefully, “If such a technology were real, it would indeed threaten certain powerful interests—fossil fuel, old-guard energy industries. Pushback could range from lobbying and lawsuits to more underhanded tactics. Discrediting the science, smear campaigns against the company or inventor…” She paused, then added in a lower tone, “Possibly even intimidation or threats. Sadly, history has examples.”

Kara had gone still, pen suspended above the page. A crease appeared between her brows again. “Threats, as in violence?”

Lena forced a light shrug. “In extreme cases. It’s not common, of course.” She chased a swirl of cinnamon in her cup, looking down briefly to mask the bitterness that threatened her composure. Her own situation wasextreme, wasn’t it? She hadn’t told a soul outside her inner circle about the more explicit death threats. And here she was, discussing the very scenario with a stranger as fodder for fiction. Life’s irony was exquisite.

When she looked up, Kara’s eyes were fixed on her with a surprising gentleness. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to stir up anything uncomfortable. We can talk about something lighter if you’d prefer.”

Lena blinked. Kara’s expression held an understanding that was almost uncanny. Does she suspect…? No, how could she? Kara was just perceptive, perhaps picking up on the shift in Lena’s tone. Lena smoothed a stray hair at her temple and shook her head. “No, it’s alright. Part of tackling climate change is acknowledging it’s not just a technical fight, but a political one too. Write your villains as nasty as you want; reality will likely match or exceed it.” She tried to make it a wry joke, but it came out too flat.

Kara nodded slowly, an inscrutable look in her eyes. “That’s kind of what I suspected. Thank you for confirming it.” She scribbled a quick note. Lena watched her write, noticing the slight tremor at the end of a word as Kara’s pen pressed harder than intended. Perhaps the topic unsettled her as well.

“On a more optimistic note,” Lena offered, consciously lifting the mood, “if that reactor in your book succeeded, it could revolutionise energy. You’d want to portray the hope it gives people too. The reason your protagonists fight so hard.” She allowed herself a genuine smile now, small but heartfelt. “Because that’s what we hold onto in my field. The hope that we can change things for the better, before it’s too late.”

Kara’s pen had stilled. Her eyes met Lena’s, and for a moment something kindled between them—recognition, perhaps. Kara’s voice was quieter when she replied, almost reverent: “I read an interview where you said something about that. That you’re not a cynic because if you were, you wouldn’t be doing any of this.”

Lena’s breath caught. She did recall saying that, months ago. She hadn’t thought anyone remembered it beyond a day’s news cycle. A strange warmth spread through her chest. “I did say that,” she murmured. “You have a good memory.”

Kara smiled, a touch shyly this time. “Well, I may have re-read that piece a few times. For research,” she added quickly, as if to make the admission less personal. “It was a really grounded perspective. It stuck with me.” She capped her pen and closed her notebook gently. “People call it hope, what you have, but it’s really a kind of determination, isn’t it? To force the issue by giving humanity no other choice but to change.”

Lena felt unexpectedly exposed—this woman, in mere minutes, seemed to grasp her mindset better than many colleagues who’d known her for years. She responded softly, “Exactly. Hope that isn’t naïve. Hope with teeth.”

Kara’s lips parted, as if that phrasing resonated deeply. “Hope with teeth. I love that.” Her gaze lingered on Lena, thoughtful and warm, and Lena suddenly became aware of how closely they were leaning toward one another across the small table. She eased back, and Kara did the same, both of them perhaps realising at once that an invisible line of intimacy had crept closer. Lena cleared her throat delicately and glanced at her watch. Her fifteen minutes were nearly up.

“I shouldn’t monopolise your break,” Kara said quickly, noticing the glance. “You’ve been incredibly generous with your time. Thank you.” There was an almost reluctant tone in her voice, as if she didn’t actually want this conversation to end. Lena found she didn’t quite want it to, either. It had been…refreshing, to talk with someone like this. Normal, inquisitive, kind.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Lena assured. And she meant it. “I haven’t had a coffee chat this stimulating in a while.” She slipped her tablet back into her purse, then hesitated. A spontaneous idea sparked: Kara clearly was serious about her manuscript—perhaps Lena could extend this connection just a little longer under that pretext. “If you’d like,” she began, fixing Kara with an appraising look, “I could read a sample of your manuscript sometime. Maybe give feedback on the technical aspects, or even the human ones. Fresh eyes and all.”

Kara’s eyes widened in apparent disbelief. For a beat she said nothing, and Lena almost second-guessed the offer. Then Kara’s face brightened in a radiant grin. “Lena, that—wow, that would be amazing. I mean, I’d love that. Are you sure you’d have time?”

Lena allowed herself a light laugh. “I can always make a bit of time to read, especially if it’s related to what I care about. And,” she added with a tiny smirk, “I admit I’m curious to see how I—er, how our field—is portrayed in your fiction.”

Kara ducked her head, clearly delighted and trying to hide it. “Fair enough. I can email you some chapters, whatever you’d like.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card, offering it to Lena with a slightly sheepish expression. “Here—my contact. Writer slash freelance journalist, see?” Indeed the card read Kara Danvers – Freelance Writer in simple font, followed by an email and UK mobile number. “I got new cards made when I came to London,” Kara added as Lena took it. “Figured I should try networking. Didn’t imagine this kind of networking, though.”

Lena thumbed the edge of the card thoughtfully. The name Kara Danvers danced through her mind. Why did it tug at her, as if she’d heard it before? Perhaps in some byline or another. Regardless, the woman’s earnestness was winning. Lena flipped the card over between her fingers. “I don’t have a card on me, but…” She reached into her coat pocket and produced a sleek black pen. Pulling an unused café receipt from the table, she jotted down an email address. “This is my private work email—goes straight to me. You can send the sample there. Just remind me who you are, in case I give this out and then promptly get buried in other things.”

Kara accepted the slip of paper as though Lena had handed her something precious. “Thank you. I will. And I promise not to flood your inbox or anything. Just a few chapters.” She tucked the paper safely into her notebook. Lena noticed her hands were trembling just so, a tiny betraying shake of excitement that Kara was clearly trying to control. The sight of it tugged at Lena’s chest. When was the last time someone had been thishappy to talk to her, without any agenda beyond genuine interest?

“I look forward to reading them,” Lena said, and realized she truly did. She stood, and Kara quickly rose to her feet as well. For a moment they lingered by the table, neither quite sure how to part. Lena broke the pause with a polite nod. “I should get back. Science waits for no one.”

Kara chuckled softly. “Of course. And I have sufficiently caffeinated myself to face that paragraph again.” She picked up her laptop and slid it into her bag, then offered her hand to Lena one more time. “It’s been so great meeting you. Really.” There was a gentle sincerity in her voice, an undercurrent Lena couldn’t help but feel as mutual.

Lena placed her hand in Kara’s. Instead of a formal shake, she gave a light squeeze. “Likewise, Kara.” She found herself adding, in a softer tone, “This was…fun.” What a strange word to cross her lips today. But it hadbeen fun, talking like regular people, not CEO and journalist or target and protector—(she stopped that thought before it fully formed).

Kara’s eyes shone with a kindness that made Lena’s breath hitch unexpectedly. “It was,” Kara agreed, almost in a whisper. For a beat too long, they stood there, hands clasped. Lena felt the warmth of Kara’s palm, noted a single freckle just below Kara’s left thumb, the subtle strength in what appeared to be a writer’s slender fingers… What are you doing? Lena let go gently, retreating into her usual composure. The world outside their little bubble eased back in—the clatter of cups, a burst of laughter from across the café, the brisk scrape of chairs.

“I’ll be in touch,” Lena said, stepping back and sliding her arms into her coat.

“I hope so,” Kara replied, then quickly corrected herself, blushing. “I mean, yes. Great.” She hiked the strap of her messenger bag up on her shoulder, looking a touch flustered but pleased.

Lena couldn’t hide her slight grin at Kara’s fumbling. “Have a good rest of your day, Kara.”

“You too, Lena.”

With that, Lena turned and made her way toward the door. The cold outside was waiting, but she now carried a pleasant warmth within—whether from the coffee or the company, she wasn’t sure she cared to parse. As she pushed open the café door, she glanced back over her shoulder. Kara was watching her leave. Caught in the act, the blonde wiggled her fingers in a small goodbye wave. Lena gave a polite nod in return and stepped out onto the busy pavement.

The chill air nipped at her cheeks, but Lena didn’t mind it as much as before. She felt unexpectedly lighter. The simple human connection of that conversation had done more to recharge her than the caffeine. Perhaps I’ve been isolating myself too much, she mused. It was ironic: she, who kept almost everyone at arm’s length, had opened up to a stranger without even meaning to. And it had been…easy. Easier than maintaining the constant wall of defense. Kara Danvers, with her eager questions and empathetic eyes, had slipped past those walls for a few brief moments, and Lena had let her.

She walked back toward L-Corp with a brisk step, musing over the encounter. No sooner had she left the café than her logical mind reengaged: should she have given out her email like that? Was it wise to encourage an aspiring novelist to send her potentially sensitive material? But Kara seemed trustworthy—and Lena trusted very few. Why was that? Normally she’d vet someone new, at least google them or have Jess do a quick background check if they were to interact again. Perhaps she would, later, just to be sure. The Luthor in her required due diligence. Yet her gut instinct about Kara was reassuringly positive. She rarely felt that immediately about anyone.

Stopping at a pedestrian crossing, Lena tapped her toe impatiently, waiting for the light. As she did, she caught sight of a figure across the street—a tall man in a dark hoodie, leaning against a lamppost and looking in her direction. Her heart skipped. He appeared to be on his phone, but his eyes… were they on her, or something behind her? Lena’s pulse ticked up. For an instant, a frisson of paranoia prickled along her spine. Was he there when I went in? She couldn’t recall. He looked vaguely out of place among the office workers and students—a bit scruffier, lurking rather than walking with purpose.

The light changed. Pedestrians surged forward, jostling Lena along. By the time she reached the opposite curb, the man was gone—only the memory of his gaze remained. Lena’s rational mind told her it could have been nothing; London streets were full of loiterers and looky-loos. And it wasn’t as if she’d seen a camera or a weapon. Still, the ease she’d felt minutes before began to ebb, replaced by a familiar tension coiling beneath her ribcage. Eyes on her. She couldn’t shake the impression.

Squaring her shoulders, Lena walked faster, heels clicking with determined force. The sooner she was back in the secured walls of L-Corp, the better. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. You’re jumpy because of a conversation about threats. Perhaps discussing those hypothetical saboteurs with Kara had stirred up her subconscious fears. It’s nothing. She repeated it like a mantra: nothing.

By the time she returned to the lab’s private entrance, Lena had mostly convinced herself she’d imagined the man’s scrutiny. Still, as the biometric lock clicked shut behind her, she exhaled in relief. Inside, she had control. Outside…well, outside was unpredictable. Except for that unexpected pocket of solace at Petersham Roast. That had been a welcome anomaly.

“Dr. Luthor?” A security officer in the lobby looked at her with concern as she passed. “Everything alright, ma’am?”

Lena realized her hand was pressed to her abdomen, as if staving off a gut ache. She immediately dropped it to her side and mustered a cool smile. “Fine. Thank you.” Her voice sounded perfectly calm, giving nothing away. The officer nodded, reassured, and Lena continued to the elevators with her usual poise.

But as she rode up to her floor, Lena allowed herself one small, hidden indulgence: she replayed, just for herself, the highlights of that coffee shop conversation. Kara’s laughter, the gentle strength of her handshake, the earnest way she’d quoted Lena’s own words back to her. It had been a fleeting respite, but real. She tucked the memory away like a cherished postcard between heavy textbooks. Whatever storms were gathering—whatever that itch of being watched signified—at least, for a little while, she had felt seen in an entirely different way.

Half a block down from Petersham Roast, Kara Danvers stood under the awning of a newsagent’s shop, phone in hand, watching the tall figure in the dark hoodie disappear into the warren of streets beyond. She had spotted him not long after Lena left the café—a man feigning interest in his mobile while keeping an eye on Lena’s departing form. It had set every protective instinct in Kara alight. Now she lingered, pretending to check messages as she kept him in her peripheral vision. His face had been mostly obscured by the hood, but something about his posture and intent focus on Lena rang alarm bells. Could be paparazzi, she tried to reason. Lena was a public figure, after all. But no—something about the way he moved, shadowing at a distance, didn’t fit a paparazzo’s brazen style.

Kara’s heart thumped against her ribs, adrenaline threatening to spike. She fought it down with measured breaths. Stay calm. Assess. The man was gone now, and Lena safely inside the L-Corp building across the street—Kara saw the private side door close behind her from here. If this lurker was truly a threat, he’d lost his opportunity for now. But he might return.

She thumbed open her phone’s texting app and brought up a blank message. No active comms, no constant contact—that had been the rule. But this qualified as need-to-know intel, surely. Kara typed a single word on the secure line to Alex that they’d set up for emergencies: Shadow? It was their agreed code if Kara suspected a tail or hostile surveillance. After a moment’s hesitation, she hit send. The message encrypted itself and vanished into the ether. Alex would get it and know what to do—quietly increase scans around Lena’s area, perhaps, or comb CCTV footage if possible. Kara hated breaching radio silence so soon, but she hated even more the thought of leaving Lena unwatched while someone else might be watching her with far darker intent.

She pocketed the phone and stepped back out into the sidewalk flow, heading in the opposite direction from L-Corp to avoid drawing any connection. As she walked, her thoughts churned. Whoever wrote them has insider info or resources, Alex had said of the threat letters. Hired guns. Kara’s jaw tightened at the memory of the dossier photos—if that man just now was one of Edge’s people… Focus. Lena was alright, for now. Kara had done what she could, alerting the team. The best thing she could do next was continue to play her part, to stay close as Kara Danvers.

She slowed her pace, letting the mid-morning crowds jostle past. Her mind replayed the first encounter, but now through the lens of duty rather than serendipity. How had it gone? Lena had been open with her—more than Kara expected from a woman reputed to guard herself so carefully. Kara’s chest squeezed with guilt. Every sincere word Lena had shared, every unguarded smile, had been drawn out by a lie of omission. Kara wasn’t who she claimed to be. Yes, she was also a writer in a sense, but that wasn’t why she was there. Lena had invited her into a sliver of companionship, and Kara had accepted it under false pretenses. The realization sat heavy in her stomach now that the rush of the meeting was over.

Kara brushed past a cluster of tourists, head bowed against the wind. She could still feel the soft impression of Lena’s hand in hers, the subtle tremor she’d detected when they parted. That tremor wasn’t fear—Lena hadn’t been afraid of her. It was something else, something almost like… anticipation? Nerves? Kara’s own hands weren’t entirely steady either as she clenched them in her coat pockets. There had been a connection at that table, genuine and warm. And it was Kara’s job to nurture it, all the while knowing it was built on a lie.

She let out a shaky breath, stopping at a quiet corner under the skeletal branches of a winter-bare tree. The world around her moved on oblivious—buses groaned by, a cyclist’s bell trilled, pigeons squabbled over a discarded pastry. Kara closed her eyes for a moment. I can do this. She repeated the promise she’d made on the plane: If this works, she’ll never know I was more than a friendly stranger. She’d done well so far—Lena suspected nothing. In fact, Lena had offered further contact, even welcomed it. That was a victory. A quiet, crucial victory. Kara should be pleased.

And yet… as she pictured Lena’s genuine smile, the way those green eyes had warmed, Kara felt a sharp pang beneath her ribs. Deceiving this woman already felt far more personal than any cover she’d worn before. Lena had unknowingly given Kara a seed of trust, and Kara was about to let it sprout, all the while knowing it was ultimately rooted in betrayal. It made her feel like the worst kind of fraud.

The wind gusted, rattling the branches above and sending a few dry leaves skittering past her feet. Kara opened her eyes and steeled herself. It doesn’t matter how I feel. What mattered was Lena’s safety. Kara would play whatever role she had to, stomach any guilt, if it kept Lena alive. Personal feelings were a luxury she couldn’t afford—not with hired shadows possibly lurking.

Squaring her shoulders, Kara started walking again, turning her path toward the modest flat that served as her base. As she moved through the city streets, she blended in with practiced ease—just another woman hurrying along, unremarkable and unseen. Invisible, the perfect cover. She caught her reflection briefly in a shop window: glasses, wind-tousled blonde hair, a slightly dreamy expression. Kara Danvers, the amicable writer. Not a hint of Agent Danvers in sight.

Pulling out her phone once more, Kara composed a quick email to Lena’s private address, attaching three sample chapters of the fake manuscript Alex’s team had cooked up for her cover. She kept the tone of the email earnest and grateful, thanking Lena for the conversation and saying she’d value any feedback on the pages whenever Lena had time. She read it over twice to ensure it sounded genuine—each sentence was technically truthful, which eased her conscience a fraction. Before she could overthink it, she hit send. A direct line to Lena now existed, one that felt surprisingly intimate despite its professional pretext. Kara hoped it would be enough to maintain the connection until she could arrange a next meeting.

And there would be a next meeting. Lena had virtually ensured it with her offer. Kara’s mission ticked forward into its next phase: more contact, more closeness. She ought to feel relieved at how well step one had gone. Instead, as she climbed the stairs to her flat, Kara felt the weight of the coming days settle on her shoulders. Each interaction would pull Lena further into a web of lies spun for her own protection. Kara only prayed that when that web eventually came undone—as all covers inevitably did—Lena Luthor would still be alive to confront the truth, even if she hated Kara for it.

Inside her apartment, Kara shut the door and leaned back against it, closing her eyes. The faint smell of coffee clung to her sweater, evoking an image of Lena’s smile over the rim of her cup. Kara pressed her palms to her face and willed the image away. She couldn’t afford to indulge in feelings of attachment or remorse. She had a job to do: protect Lena. Everything else—her guilt, her burgeoning admiration for the woman she was deceiving, the flutter she’d felt when their eyes met—had to be compartmentalised and locked down. For both their sakes.

Lowering her hands, Kara straightened. The flat was silent around her, a blank slate. In here, she could drop the friendly stranger act for a few hours, plan her next move, and keep watch from afar. Moving to the small desk by the window, she powered on her encrypted laptop. It was time to document everything: the possible tail, Lena’s emotional state, their conversation details—scraps of intel that might become vital. But before she began her report for the DEO’s eyes only, Kara allowed herself one indulgence.

She pulled out her notebook—the one where, in preparation, she had scribbled potential dialogue and scenarios for meeting Lena. On a fresh page, she jotted down a single line: “Hope with teeth.” Below it, she noted: Lena Luthor is exactly as strong as I expected, and more human than I ever imagined. Kara stared at the words, then underlined more human twice. It wasn’t intel for the mission, not in a traditional sense, but it felt important to remember. Lena wasn’t just a target to protect; she was a person—brilliant, principled, unexpectedly kind in her guarded way. A person Kara already liked far too much for her own good.

She snapped the notebook shut and blew out a breath. No more. The lines were drawn: protector and protected, liar and unwitting confidante. A simmering tension, both personal and perilous, hung between those roles. Kara would walk that line as carefully as she could. Because beyond the warm moments and shared smiles, a threat still loomed in the shadows of London.

As she began typing up her report, Kara’s resolve hardened. Someone was watching Lena Luthor. If they made a move, Kara would be there. She would remain in Lena’s orbit—friendly, unthreatening, unnoticed by any enemy—until there was no other choice but to show her hand. And when that time came, she’d do whatever it took to keep Lena safe, even if it meant shattering the delicate trust they were beginning to build.

For now, she was still just Kara Danvers, hopeful novelist. And Lena Luthor, for all her poise and brilliance, was a woman under siege who didn’t even know it. Kara set her jaw, fingers flying over the keyboard. This first encounter had lit a spark of something between them—call it friendship, call it chemistry, call it fate. Whatever it was, it would only grow from here. Please let it be enough, Kara found herself pleading silently, though to whom she couldn’t say. Let it be enough to keep her safe.

Outside, the grey London sky hung low, a few tentative rays of sun breaking through. Ghosts didn’t sleep, Kara knew—but hope with teeth didn’t rest either. It lived on in determined hearts, in lies told for the right reasons, and in the quiet promise she made anew as she thought of Lena’s smile: I will protect you, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

Kara ended the secure call and let the encrypted phone rest against her chin for a moment, eyes closed. Alex’s voice still echoed in her head: “Keep your head, Kara. Stay close, but don’t get too close.” Easy advice in theory, harder in practice. She exhaled slowly, opening her eyes to the dimly lit flat. The early dusk in London painted long shadows across the minimalist furniture. Outside, rain tapped lightly at the windowpane — a familiar winter drizzle that blurred the city lights into a haze. Kara felt much the same: blurred at the edges, struggling to keep her focus sharp.

The debrief with her sister had been concise. Kara had reported the basics: initial contact with Lena made (“It went… well,” she’d said, and left it at that), intel on a possible tail (“I spotted a man watching her; I sent the Shadow code”), and her next planned move (“She invited me to send over sample chapters. I’ve done that. There’s a strong chance of a follow-up meeting”). She’d kept her tone professional, as if reciting mission notes — but Alex knew her too well.

“She invited you?” Alex had repeated, a subtle note of surprise and concern threading through the static of the secure line.

“Yes. Offered to give feedback on my ‘novel’,” Kara replied. Despite herself, a hint of wry warmth crept into her voice. “Apparently my fake book intrigues her.”

Alex’s silence on the other end was telling. Kara could picture her sister’s brows knitting together. Careful. Sure enough, Alex’s next words were a measured warning: “That’s good progress, but remember why you’re there. Lena can’t suspect a thing. And you… you can’t afford to lose perspective.”

Kara had bristled at that, an automatic defensiveness flaring up. “I haven’t,” she said quickly. The lie stung even as she uttered it. How could she explain the strange duality of what she was feeling? That she was completely in control of the operation, and simultaneously, that her heart had jolted in her chest when Lena’s name flashed in her inbox not ten minutes before Alex called? Subject: Chapters received – let’s meet? Even now, recalling the elegant curve of Lena’s wording in that brief email, Kara felt equal parts elation and dread.

On the phone, Alex pressed gently, “Kara… I read your written report. I can infer what you left out.” A beat of hesitation, then, “You like her.” It wasn’t accusatory, just quietly astonished.

Kara’s pulse had skipped. She’d opened her mouth, unsure whether to refute or confess, but Alex continued before she could decide, her tone softening. “I get it. She’s remarkable — on paper at least. And you’ve spent, what, an hour with her in person? Less?” A sigh crackled through the line. “Just…be mindful. We’re here to protect her, not to…”

“Not to fall for her,” Kara finished bitterly now, in the silence of her flat. She hadn’t said it aloud on the call — she didn’t need to. Both of them knew the unspoken danger. Emotional entanglement was a liability. A liability Kara had promised herself she’d never entertain on a mission again. Not after what happened last time. Not after ghosts and trauma had nearly consumed her.

She pushed off from the wall and moved to the small kitchen, setting the phone down on the counter. The kettle was still warm from her earlier tea. Mechanically, Kara filled her mug and watched steam curl upward. Alex had ended the call with updates that should have jolted Kara into pure professional mode. Threats escalating. A new message had been intercepted and passed to the DEO via Jack Spheer. This one wasn’t a cryptic warning or a vague ideological rant — it was a direct promise of violence. A photograph attached, grainy but intelligible: Lena speaking at a conference last year, crosshairs drawn over her figure. And the words in the email: Shut it down or we’ll shut you down. Last chance.

Even recalling it made Kara’s grip tighten around her mug. She didn’t realize her tea was scalding hot until the burn registered on her palm. She hissed under her breath, flexing her fingers. Focus. Alex had also confirmed the man Kara spotted outside the coffee shop was likely not a coincidence. Security camera footage showed the same hooded figure trailing a few blocks behind Lena on her walk back to L-Corp. They lost him in the warren of side streets, but one blurry frame caught part of his face. Facial recognition was running, but Brainy’s preliminary analysis flagged a possible match: an ex-mercenary with known ties to a certain oil conglomerate’s hired muscle. “Edge’s people, perhaps,” Alex had said, referencing the codename of the suspected mastermind. If Edge was escalating to physical surveillance and intimidation, it meant the window for preventative action was shrinking.

All of that should have had Kara laser-focused on contingency plans and risk assessments for the next contact with Lena. And part of her was. Even now, she was mentally noting to sweep the area for any sign of that man, or others, at their next meeting. She would be prepared for the worst. But the other part of her — the part still warm from the memory of Lena’s laughter, still carrying the phantom imprint of Lena’s hand squeezing hers in thanks — that part was fixated not on the threats, but on Lena herself.

Kara had always compartmentalised on missions: duty in one box, personal feelings in another, sealed tight. This assignment was cracking those boxes, bleeding emotions from one into the other. It had happened frighteningly fast. After the call, as she carefully typed out a reply to Lena confirming dinner for tomorrow evening, Kara noticed her fingers trembled faintly on the keys. Not from fear of any enemy, but from anticipation. From the knowledge she’d get to see Lena again. The genuineness of that eagerness shook her.

She reminded herself with each word she typed that this was for the mission. A chance to gather intel, to keep close watch. Dinner was simply the logical next step in maintaining proximity under her writerly guise. Yet she couldn’t fully deny the flutter low in her stomach as she hit send on the email. Looking forward to it, she had written, and the sentiment was painfully true.

That night, Kara slept fitfully. Her dreams were a tangle of images: Lena’s smile morphing into a look of betrayal; a faceless man in a hood aiming a gun; Alex’s silhouette turning away as Kara stood in a battlefield of snow. She woke before dawn with her heart hammering, the London sky still an inky blue beyond the window. “Get it together,” she whispered to herself, running a hand through her hair. The mission had barely begun, and already her emotions were playing tricks on her subconscious. In the grey quiet of pre-dawn, Kara rolled out of bed and dropped into a series of push-ups on the cold hardwood floor, punishing in their precision. She welcomed the burn in her muscles, the focus it required. Physical exertion was simple. It was the feelings that were complicated.

By the time the day had brightened into a pale silver morning, Kara had steeled herself anew. She spent the day preparing in every way she knew. A discreet check-in confirmed that DEO surveillance overwatch was in position—eyes on the broader perimeter of L-Corp and the restaurant where dinner would take place, far enough not to tip Lena off, close enough to swoop in if needed. Kara double-checked her cover story details in case conversation wandered that way again. She even skimmed the fake manuscript files they’d given her, reminding herself of plot points Lena might comment on. Anything to quell the nervous excitement that built as evening approached.

And now, it was nearly time. Kara stood before the mirror in her bedroom, adjusting the drape of her blouse for the third time. She’d chosen a soft navy blue button-down and dark jeans under her coat — casual, but a step up from the oversized jumper and denims she’d worn at the café. I’m just a writer heading to dinner with a new friend. The thought made her pause, fingers stilling on the last button. Was that what they were? Friends? The word felt inadequate and too presumptuous all at once. Lena was technically her assignment, the woman she needed to guard. But on the strength of one chance meeting, Lena had also become something terribly precious: a person Kara genuinely liked and admired, apart from the mission. A friend, perhaps, if the lie hadn’t been sitting between them.

Kara slid on her glasses — clear, non-prescription lenses that subtly altered her face. They were part of the persona: Kara Danvers, unobtrusive novelist. Through those lenses she took one more look at herself. Her reflection gazed back calmly. Nothing in her appearance betrayed the trained operative beneath. No holster visible (her compact pistol was tucked in a hidden compartment of her handbag — she prayed she wouldn’t need it, but could not go unarmed knowing what she did). No tell-tale bulges or tactical gear. Just a woman with wind-swept blonde hair, blue eyes behind frames, and a politely pleasant half-smile. Only Kara could see the tension in that smile, the strain around her eyes. Satisfied enough, she grabbed her coat and headed out.

The restaurant Lena had suggested, The Oriole, was in a quiet Kensington side street. It was upmarket enough to offer privacy at its booths, but not a stuffy five-star affair — Lena had chosen well. It struck a balance between elegant and relaxed, much like the woman herself. Kara arrived ten minutes early, an eternity in her own keyed-up mind. The maitre d’ showed her to a semi-secluded table near a window that overlooked a small winter garden, skeletal trees wrapped in fairy lights. Soft jazz tinkled in the background, mixing with the low hum of conversation from a half dozen other occupied tables.

Kara thanked the host and sat, her back deliberately to the wall so she could watch the entrance and the room. Old habits. She busied herself with the menu, though she already scanned the surroundings over its top edge. No sign of anything unusual — just patrons engrossed in their meals and company. A couple in the far corner laughing over wine. A trio of businessmen arguing quietly, ties loosened. And— Kara’s gaze snagged on a figure just stepping through the door — Lena.

Lena spotted her almost at once, thanks in part to Kara’s strategic choice of table. As the host guided Lena over, Kara stood to greet her, smoothing her palms against her jeans reflexively. For a moment, she forgot to breathe: Lena was breathtaking tonight. She’d come straight from work, judging by the charcoal pencil skirt and tailored emerald blouse beneath her black wool coat, but there was a subtle shift from boardroom to evening. Perhaps it was the way her dark hair was no longer in a severe bun as it might be at work; instead it tumbled in loose, glossy waves around her shoulders. Or the delicate gold chain at her neck catching the light. Or simply the way her green eyes lit up when they met Kara’s.

“Hi,” Kara managed, a little softly, as Lena reached the table. She hoped her smile didn’t look as giddy as it felt.

“Hello, Kara,” Lena replied. There was warmth in her voice that hadn’t been there at the coffee shop, at least not until the very end. If then they had been two cautious strangers fencing with words, tonight felt markedly different. Friendlier. More personal. Lena shrugged out of her coat and Kara swiftly stepped around to help drape it over the back of a chair. A gallant impulse, but Lena rewarded it with a grateful little smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Kara returned to her seat, heart already a little lighter just from Lena’s presence. She hadn’t realized until now how worried she’d been that something might happen to cancel this meeting — that Lena would change her mind or be too busy or too wary. But here she was, in the flesh, looking at Kara like she genuinely wanted to be here too.

“I hope I’m not late,” Lena said, glancing at the slim watch on her wrist. “I had a video conference that wouldn’t end.”

“You’re right on time,” Kara assured. “I was early. Habit of mine — journalists, even former ones, tend to be annoyingly prompt.”

Lena’s lips curved. “Good. I dislike being the first to arrive anywhere. It appeals to my inner diva to have someone already waiting.” Her tone was light, clearly joking. Kara chuckled. The sound was easy, unforced. Already the knot of anxiety in her chest was loosening.

They settled in, and a waiter appeared to take drink orders. Lena arched a brow at Kara in silent question; Kara quickly realized Lena was waiting to see if she would order alcohol. Part of Kara was inclined to stick to something tame — she wanted her wits about her. But it felt standoffish to refuse a drink outright, and this evening was about maintaining their developing rapport. “Shall we share a bottle of wine?” Kara ventured. “Unless you prefer something else.”

“Wine sounds lovely,” Lena agreed. She let Kara choose, and Kara selected a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc she vaguely remembered reading about during her crash course in Lena’s preferences (a detail buried in the DEO brief: Lena had once mentioned in an interview enjoying Sauvignon Blanc — one of those tiny facts an operative files away). When the waiter left to retrieve it, Lena leaned on her forearms, studying Kara thoughtfully across the table. “So, how has your day been? Not too nervous about what I might say regarding your writing, I hope.”

Kara couldn’t help a small laugh. “Oh, I’ve been fretting constantly. What if she hates it? What if she’s politely trying to find an excuse to never see me again?” She put on a mock-dramatic tone, then shook her head, smiling. “Honestly, I was more excited than nervous. It’s not every aspiring novelist who gets the Lena Luthor to beta-read their work.”

Lena rolled her eyes with a soft groan. “Please, don’t say it like that or I’ll feel terribly self-conscious. I’m not exactly a literary critic.”

“No, but you are frighteningly intelligent,” Kara countered, then bit her tongue at her own forthrightness. She hadn’t meant to blurt out quite so blunt a compliment. But Lena didn’t seem put off; on the contrary, a faint blush touched her cheeks.

“I’m… knowledgeable in certain arenas,” Lena demurred. “But I promise I read your chapters as a layperson might — albeit one who’s immersed in the science daily.” She paused, tilting her head. “And as a layperson, I found myself hooked.”

Hooked. Kara’s chest warmed with pride, relief, and an odd gratitude. Even knowing the chapters were engineered to impress, a part of her had worried Lena might find them mediocre or dull. Hearing that note of genuine interest in Lena’s voice was gratifying. “Really? You don’t have to flatter me, you know,” Kara said lightly, though her smile probably gave away how pleased she was.

Lena’s expression grew earnest. “It’s not flattery. I wouldn’t have suggested dinner if I thought your writing was awful.” A playful glint appeared in her eye. “I’d have made a polite excuse and barricaded myself in the lab for the rest of the week.”

They shared a laugh at that image. Kara pictured Lena literally hiding from her and found the idea both endearing and disappointing. She was profoundly glad it hadn’t come to that. “Well, I’m honoured you liked what you read,” Kara said, meaning it. “Honestly, I welcome any critique too. Don’t spare my feelings. I have an editor for that, or I would if I had one,” she joked.

The wine arrived, saving Lena from having to respond immediately. As the waiter poured for them, Kara watched Lena out of the corner of her eye. Even doing something as mundane as thanking the server and inspecting the wine, Lena had a presence — poised, gracious, yet with an undercurrent of quiet intensity. Kara realized she was almost staring and quickly averted her gaze to her own glass. Steady.

Glasses filled and the waiter gone, Lena raised hers slightly. “To serendipitous meetings,” she said. The simple toast held a world of meaning in her soft tone.

Kara gently tapped her glass to Lena’s. “To good company,” she replied, eyes meeting Lena’s. For a second, they lingered, blue to green, until both looked away with faint smiles and sipped. The wine was crisp and bright on Kara’s tongue, a pleasant accompaniment to the effervescent feeling building in her.

They perused the menus for a moment, mutually deciding on a few dishes to share family-style. Once that small negotiation was done and the waiter had taken note, Lena sat back. “So. Let’s talk about these chapters of yours.” She folded her hands, a professor ready to tutor a student — except her expression was far from stern. If anything, Kara thought Lena looked… eager. Almost excited to discuss it.

Kara braced herself with a fortifying sip of water, then nodded. “Let’s.”

“First off,” Lena began, “your concept is strikingly similar to some real R&D I know of.”

Kara feigned surprise. “Oh? I hope I didn’t accidentally predict someone’s patent. My imagination might owe them royalties,” she quipped.

Lena smiled. “No, nothing of the sort. But the theoretical reactor you describe — one that could convert carbon dioxide to energy on a large scale — it has echoes of projects in development. That’s part of what hooked me, I think. It felt timely. Almost prescient.” She tapped a fingernail lightly against her glass. “The ethical dilemma you set up, with oil interests pushing back violently… that hit close to home too.”

Kara shifted slightly, conscience prickling. She was acutely aware that the scenario wasn’t just fiction — it was Lena’s real life, right now. “I did a lot of research,” she said carefully. “I’m glad it rang true. I was aiming for plausible, if worst-case, situations.”

A wry chuckle escaped Lena. “‘Worst-case’ is one way to put it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a mole in some corporate boardroom, feeding you ideas for villains.”

For one panicked moment, Kara wondered if that was a veiled accusation. But Lena’s tone was light; she was clearly joking. Kara forced a smile. “I promise I don’t. But being a journalist taught me how to sniff out what tensions are in the air. I just followed the threads — in this case, the obvious conflict between groundbreaking clean tech and fossil fuel incumbents. It wasn’t hard to imagine that could turn ugly.”

Lena’s gaze grew more intent. “Imagination only takes one so far. Your depiction of the harassment campaign — the threats, the sabotage attempts — it was uncomfortably realistic.” She paused, her throat working as she swallowed. In a quieter voice, she added, “Almost as if you’ve seen it happen.”

Kara felt her heartbeat tick up. She had to be very measured now. “I… have followed climate innovators and the backlash they sometimes get, in my reporting days,” she offered. “Never covered one quite to this extreme, but I did interview a scientist whose lab was vandalised by activists paid off by a coal lobby. That gave me some foundation for writing those scenes.” It wasn’t entirely false; she recalled such a story from her research briefing, though she hadn’t personally covered it. Still, it lent credibility to her cover.

Lena nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” Her shoulders relaxed a fraction; Kara sensed she’d passed some subtle test. Lena took another sip of wine, then continued, “Setting aside the plot for a moment, I also found your characters compelling. Especially your protagonist, Leigh. She’s… intriguing.”

A tiny knot formed in Kara’s stomach. Leigh, the main character of the novel, was loosely based on Kara herself — or at least on the parts of herself she was least proud of. Leigh was a former reporter carrying guilt from a story gone wrong, now trying to atone by helping a scientist expose corruption. Kara wondered what Lena saw when she read that character. “Intriguing how?” she asked softly.

Lena’s eyes searched Kara’s face, as if the answer might be written there. “Leigh feels very real. Flawed, driven, a little haunted maybe. There’s a line… let’s see if I remember it.” Lena frowned in concentration. “‘She collected secrets the way others collected scars — each one a hidden hurt, borne in silence.’” Lena looked up. “That line stuck with me. It made me wonder if you were drawing from experience.”

Kara’s breath caught. She remembered that line; she had written it herself, late one night while trying to exorcise the ache of her own secrets. Of course it had made it into the manuscript — the DEO team had kept many of Kara’s contributions. Now Lena had plucked it out and presented it back to her with quiet curiosity. The truth of it hovered uncomfortably between them. Kara forced a little smile. “Maybe a bit of experience,” she admitted. “I think every journalist-turned-novelist has seen things they can’t unsee. We all carry stories that never made it to print — for reasons outside our control. Those can feel like scars.” She realized she was picking at the edge of her napkin with a fingernail and made herself stop. “Leigh has a lot of me in her, yes. Probably more than any other character I’ve written.”

Lena’s gaze softened. “I thought so. That authenticity… it’s part of why I believe in her as a character. And why I find myself rooting for her.” She smiled gently. “Warts and all.”

Warmth blossomed in Kara’s chest. It was strangely intimate, to have Lena speak of a fictional avatar of Kara’s soul and say she cared. As if, unknowingly, Lena had just said she cared about Kara. A dangerous, foolish hope, but it glimmered nonetheless. Kara ducked her head to hide the vulnerable shine in her eyes and took a breath. “Thank you. That means a lot,” she murmured. “Truly.”

Their first course arrived then, providing a welcome diversion. As they dished steaming saffron rice and spiced vegetables onto their plates, the conversation flowed to safer ground. Lena praised the descriptive writing of the city in Kara’s novel, which led Kara to laughingly confess she had borrowed heavily from London itself for her setting. That in turn moved them to trade a few favourite spots in the city — Lena mentioned a quiet gallery on the South Bank she loved, Kara spoke of a secondhand bookshop in Bloomsbury she could lose whole afternoons in. Each revelation was small, ordinary, and yet Kara savoured them. With each passing minute, the two of them expanded the little island of familiarity they’d begun to build at the coffee shop.

As they dined, Kara remained subtly alert to their surroundings. Years of training made it second nature. She noted the ebb and flow of patrons, the placement of exits, the staff movements. At one point, she clocked a man at the bar whose jacket bulged oddly at the side — for a tense minute she watched him, wondering if it concealed a weapon. But when he shifted, she glimpsed the outline of a camera lens; likely a tourist or blogger. He seemed utterly uninterested in the diners behind him. Kara forced herself to release the tension in her shoulders. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let paranoia ruin this dinner unless absolutely necessary.

Lena, meanwhile, was gradually unwinding. Kara could see it in how the other woman’s posture eased from formal poise to something more relaxed, one arm resting on the table as she spoke animatedly about an anecdote from her university days. “—so then the entire system shorted out, and we’re sitting in pitch darkness while the lab manager is shouting bloody murder in Czech. I thought my career in research was over before it began!” Lena was laughing lightly at the memory of some youthful mishap, a true, melodic laugh that made Kara’s heart skip.

“What did you do?” Kara asked, grinning.

“Ran,” Lena admitted with a mischievous twinkle. “At least until we could figure out how to fix it. We returned after-hours with replacement circuits. Thankfully, we got the equipment working again by morning. The manager never found out it was our experiment that caused the outage.” She shook her head, fond exasperation on her face. “Not my finest hour ethically, I suppose, but fear of academic retribution makes cowards of us all.”

Kara chuckled. “I won’t judge. I’ve had my share of close calls with authority too. Like when I was a cub reporter and trespassed onto a construction site for a story. Nearly fell into a half-dug foundation pit trying to hide from the foreman.” She winced theatrically at the recollection (that one was true — albeit in pursuit of a college newspaper article).

Lena gasped softly, though amusement danced on her face. “That sounds perilous. All for a scoop?”

“A very underwhelming scoop,” Kara confessed. “But I was nineteen and thought I was Woodward and Bernstein rolled into one. Invincible.” She gave a little shrug. “I learned quickly that I’m very much not invincible. I got out with a sprained ankle and a bruised ego. My editor was livid, but also laughing at me the whole time he drove me to A&E.”

Lena was smiling, but her eyes flickered with something like concern. “You’ve really been through the wars, haven’t you? Quite literally in some cases.”

It was an innocent observation, but it made Kara pause. Lena was piecing together the hints Kara had dropped: conflict reporting, reckless investigation tactics, scars hidden in prose. Kara could almost see Lena working out a picture of her in that keen mind. What did Lena see? A fearless journalist? A thrill-seeker? Kara needed to keep that emerging picture believable. “I suppose I have a habit of finding trouble,” she said lightly, trying to defuse any overestimation of her. “Or maybe it finds me. But I assure you, these days my life is much more boring.”

“I’m not so sure,” Lena murmured, almost under her breath.

Before Kara could inquire, the waiter returned to clear plates and offer dessert. Lena deferred to Kara with a gracious “If you have a sweet tooth, choose whatever you like.” They eventually settled on a plum tart to share, and once the waiter stepped away, Lena resumed, her tone more serious now, albeit gentle. “I meant it, you know. About your life not sounding boring at all. You’ve described near-accidents, controversial interviews… That’s more excitement than most novelists or journalists encounter in a lifetime.”

Kara toyed with the base of her wineglass, suddenly cautious. “I…suppose I have a tendency to dive into things. And to not flinch when things get intense.” She tried a teasing smile. “Maybe I just lack common sense.”

Lena didn’t laugh. Her gaze had gone appraising, as if she was seeing something new in Kara. “Or maybe you’re braver than most,” she said softly. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just… an observation.”

Kara felt a flush creep up her neck. She wasn’t used to compliments that hit so close to her hidden truth. Bravery was a trait more honestly applied to Agent Kara Danvers than Author Kara Danvers, and hearing Lena mention it felt like being seen through a crack in her armour. “Well, I—” she began, searching for a self-deprecating reply.

Suddenly, a clatter and crash erupted from behind Kara as a waiter’s tray slipped from a hand. A sharp bang rang out as a stack of plates shattered on the hardwood floor. In an instant, Kara’s muscles coiled, ready for action. The sound had mimicked a gunshot enough to trigger instinct: her heart jolted and she half-rose from her chair, whipping her head around to assess the threat.

Just broken crockery. A flushed waiter was already apologising loudly to the room, bending to pick up pieces. Several patrons had jumped in alarm; one woman near the spill was brushing bits of sauced chicken off her skirt with a curse.

Kara exhaled slowly, willing her racing pulse to steady. She sat back down, forcing a shaky chuckle as others in the restaurant began to either laugh off the scare or grumble. “Good reflexes,” Lena noted quietly.

Kara turned back to find Lena watching her intently. In contrast to Kara’s relative composure, Lena’s hand had flown to her chest in surprise at the loud crash, and she was still regaining her calm. She arched a brow. “You didn’t even flinch.”

“Oh, well—” Kara started, a denial on her tongue, but Lena continued, a perplexed smile ghosting over her lips.

“You react to a clatter like someone who’s used to chaos, not a desk-jockey novelist.” Lena tilted her head, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You don’t flinch like someone who lives in fiction, Kara.”

The words hung between them, quiet but piercing. Kara felt them land like a dart in her ribs. You don’t flinch like someone who lives in fiction. It was a gentle accusation, or perhaps just curiosity, but in it Kara heard the subtext: You’re not exactly who you seem, are you?

A beat passed. Kara realized she had gone very still, the smile frozen on her face. She needed to think quickly. She forced a self-effacing laugh, hoping it sounded natural, and lifted her glass. “Guilty,” she said lightly. “I suppose I did get more than my fair share of adrenaline rushes before I ever sat down to write. Occupational hazard of the journalism days.” She wiggled her fingers humorously, as if shaking off nerves. “Though trust me, I felt my heart jump. I’ve just learned not to spill my drink when something goes boom.”

It was a decent attempt to deflect, and Kara prayed it would suffice. She took a sip of wine to occupy herself, watching Lena over the rim.

Lena regarded her for another moment, then huffed a quiet breath that could have been amusement. “Understood. Old habits, hm?”

Kara seized on that. “Exactly. Hard to retrain from reporter mode. I used to have an editor who’d test our mettle by shouting ‘Fire!’ in the newsroom at random times just to see who kept typing. I learned to keep my cool.” She embellished the lie with a grin, inwardly wincing at how flimsy it sounded.

This time Lena did laugh softly. “I hope you’re joking. That sounds borderline abusive.”

“Only a little joking,” Kara said, chuckling along. “He never shouted fire, but he did have an air horn for deadlines…” She shook her head. “The point is, I promise I’m not as unflappable as I apparently appear. Inside, I’m a bundle of nerves like everyone else.”

That, at least, felt honest. God, was she ever a bundle of nerves right now. Kara felt a bead of sweat at her temple and surreptitiously dabbed it with her napkin.

Lena let the subject drop, the moment of suspicion seemingly passed. But her expression lingered in Kara’s mind: that keen, searching look. Lena Luthor wasn’t easy to fool — a fact that was both admirable and terrifying. Kara realised she’d been skating on the thinnest ice with that reaction. She would have to be even more careful. Restraint, at all times. Controlled distance.

Dessert arrived, breaking the lingering tension. The plum tart looked delicious, and Kara used the distraction to recalibrate herself. They each took a few bites, humming appreciatively at the buttery crust and spiced fruit. Normalcy returned in their small talk about the food.

Kara was cutting a second piece when Lena spoke again, her tone contemplative. “You know… I envy that steadiness of yours.”

Kara glanced up, puzzled. “My steadiness?”

Lena traced the edge of her plate with her fork, not quite meeting Kara’s eyes. “Your composure. Your ability to take things in stride. I fear I lost mine some time ago.”

Kara set her utensil down, concerned. “What makes you say that? You always seem perfectly composed to me.” More than composed, Kara thought. Lena often seemed unshakable. But Lena gave a small, tight smile.

“I wear it well, I suppose. But it’s mostly an act.” She sighed, gaze flicking to the window where beyond the glass tiny fairy lights blinked in the dark. “Recent events have made it… difficult to trust the calm. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

The way she said it was casual, but Kara sensed a deeper anguish beneath. Recent events. The threats, the constant fear that she hid from the world. Lena was opening a door onto her guarded inner life, if only a sliver. Kara felt a pang in her chest. Lena had been living under the weight of danger and betrayal alone, without the reassurance Kara wished she could give. In that moment, Kara wanted nothing more than to tell her: You’re not alone. You are safe, I’m here. But she couldn’t say any of that. Not truthfully. Not without unraveling everything.

She settled for a gentle approach. “That sounds… stressful,” Kara said softly. “I can’t imagine running a company under that kind of pressure. Or maybe I can, a little — I mean, I only have to answer to my own failures when I write. You answer to the world.”

Lena’s eyes met hers, a hint of gratitude in their depths for the understanding. “It’s the path I chose. I can handle scrutiny and high stakes. I always have.” Her voice hardened just a touch, pride rising. Then it faltered. “But trust… that’s another matter.”

“Trust?” Kara echoed quietly. Her heart was beating faster again. This was Lena, cautious and vulnerable, tiptoeing toward something true. Kara leaned in slightly, giving her full attention.

Lena exhaled, and in that breath seemed to expel a bit of the iron control she kept. She spoke with careful deliberation, eyes drifting to her wineglass as her finger ran along its stem. “It’s hard for me to trust people. Especially new people. I’ve been burned in the past by those I thought I could rely on. Some scars,” she said with a faint, bitter smile, “aren’t as invisible as others.”

Kara’s throat tightened. She thought of the scant personal details she knew: Lena’s family name carried a legacy of treachery — Lex Luthor’s betrayals were practically legend. And there were rumours: an ugly falling out with a former friend-turned rival (no doubt Jack could fill in those blanks). Lena had plenty of reason to be guarded.

“I’m sorry,” Kara murmured. It felt inadequate, but she infused it with genuine empathy. “I understand what that’s like, to an extent. In journalism I— well, let’s say not everyone I trusted ended up deserving it. It’s part of why I left that career.” This was skirting close to truth; Kara’s disillusionment with governmental agencies post-betrayal was not so different, even if the context was worlds apart.

Lena looked up, searching Kara’s face. “So you do understand,” she said softly. For a moment she seemed lost in thought, then she chuckled, a dry and self-conscious sound. “Listen to me, getting dreary on a lovely evening. I apologise. I didn’t mean to drag the mood down.”

“You didn’t,” Kara said quickly. “Honestly, I’m glad you told me that. I mean, that you would trust me with that,” she corrected, catching the word. She realized she had reached slightly across the table as she spoke, an unconscious urge to touch Lena’s hand perhaps. She stopped herself just short, fingers curling back. “For what it’s worth, I don’t take it lightly — your trust.”

Something undefinable passed over Lena’s face, there and gone: a flicker of guilt? Or worry? Kara couldn’t be sure. Lena lowered her gaze and gave a tiny nod. “For what it’s worth,” Lena echoed gently, “I do trust you, Kara.”

Kara’s chest constricted. She almost wished Lena hadn’t said that. Every syllable was a twist of the knife. I do trust you.If only you knew. Kara mustered a smile that she hoped hid the ache behind it. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was all she could manage without her voice breaking. Under the table, her nails dug crescents into her palms.

They let a silence lapse, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. It felt weighty, meaningful, like both of them were processing the implications of that conversation. To Kara, it was a wake-up call: Lena was letting her in, little by little. And with each step closer Lena took, Kara’s conscience screamed louder at the deception that underpinned it all.

She forced herself to brighten the mood as they polished off the last bites of tart. Kara regaled Lena with a humorous recounting of her first few weeks adjusting to British idioms (how asking for the “loo” baffled her until someone kindly explained it meant the toilet, or how she learned the hard way that “tea” can mean an entire evening meal in some households). Lena responded with fond amusement, even sharing how she once inadvertently insulted an investor by misunderstanding the slang phrase “to table a proposal” between American and British usage. By the time the waiter brought the bill, they were both laughing again, the earlier heaviness dispelled.

Lena reached for the bill folder without hesitation. Kara opened her mouth to protest — after all, Lena had given her hours of valuable feedback; Kara had intended to treat her in gratitude. But Lena fixed her with a mild, don’t-even-try-it look. “Consider it my treat, as your editor-for-the-night,” she said firmly.

Kara relented, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, but next time, I’m paying. Starving artist’s honour.”

“Next time,” Lena repeated, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she settled the bill with her card. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The prospect of a next time hung in the air between them, both promise and temptation. Kara allowed herself a tiny thrill at the idea. If Lena wanted a next time, it meant she truly enjoyed Kara’s company enough to do this again, trust issues and all. And selfishly, Kara found she wanted that next time desperately — mission or not.

They rose from the table and collected their coats. Kara helped slip Lena’s coat over her shoulders, fingertips brushing the sleek fabric and possibly, accidentally, a lock of Lena’s hair. A subtle whiff of Lena’s perfume — something clean with a hint of jasmine — lingered as Kara pulled back. It made her head spin for an instant. Focus, she reminded herself, even as her heart insisted on memorising that scent.

Outside the restaurant, night had fully fallen. The earlier rain had stopped, leaving the pavements slick and shining under the street lamps. Their breath puffed white in the chill. Kara immediately scanned the street, her gaze skimming over parked cars, the mouth of an alley, pedestrians farther down the block. All seemed quiet. Still, the familiar prickle of vigilance danced along her skin.

Lena wrapped her coat tighter around herself and gave Kara an almost shy look. “Thank you, Kara. That was… it was a wonderful evening.” A slight emphasis on ‘wonderful’, as if the word were insufficient. Her guarded poise was back, but softened at the edges by sincerity.

Kara felt a broad smile break free. “It was. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself like this.” That was true in more ways than one — meaningful social outings had been scarce in Kara’s life lately, and certainly none so exhilarating as this subtle dance with Lena.

They stood a little awkwardly for a moment, as if both reluctant for the night to end yet unsure how to prolong it. Lena glanced toward the curb. “My car’s just there,” she said, nodding at a sleek black Tesla parked under a street lamp. Likely her personal car; Kara noted it with an agent’s eye — tinted windows, probably armour-plated given Lena’s status. Lena fished her keys from her purse and hesitated. “Are you headed back to your hotel? Do you need a lift anywhere?”

Kara’s cover included a modest extended-stay hotel nearby (in truth a front — her real base was the flat, but Lena didn’t need to know that). She shook her head lightly. “I’m actually close by, just a few blocks. A walk will do me good to clear my head.” She offered a crooked smile. “Work off all that dessert.”

Lena returned the smile. “Alright. As long as you’ll be safe. I don’t like the idea of you wandering alone so late.”

The irony was thick. Kara almost laughed — if only Lena knew who was ensuring who’s safety. She found herself touched, though, by Lena’s concern. “London’s not so bad,” Kara said. “Besides, I have my phone and I know how to scream very loudly.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Lena. “Fair enough. I suppose I’ll have to trust your unflinching bravery on that count too.” She stepped closer, extending her hand. “Good night, Kara.”

Kara took the offered hand, conscious of how natural it felt by now to do so. They had shaken hands twice today already, and each time was strangely momentous. This time, Lena’s palm was cool from the air, her grip gentle but lingering. Kara found herself covering their clasp with her other hand in a warm sandwich, an instinctive gesture of affection that she half regretted and half savoured. “Good night, Lena,” she said softly. Her voice almost caught on Lena’s name; it felt intimate in her mouth.

For a beat, they stood like that, hands entwined between them. Lena’s gaze flickered down at their joined hands and then back up to Kara’s face. There was a brightness in her eyes, a delicate hope tempered by caution. Kara wondered if her own expression mirrored that. We are treading dangerous ground, she thought faintly. And I never want it to stop.

Realising the moment had stretched long, Kara reluctantly let go. The absence of Lena’s touch was immediate and cold. She resisted the urge to shove her hands in her pockets, not wanting to betray the sudden nerves jangling through her. “Drive safe,” she offered lamely, stepping back.

“I will,” Lena promised. She took a step towards her car, then paused, turning back one last time. “And Kara…?”

“Yes?” Kara’s heart did a little flip.

Lena looked like she was about to say something important, but then a gentle smile touched her lips. “I’ll email you some more detailed notes on the chapters. Just technical stuff we didn’t cover.” It clearly wasn’t what she had almost said. But Kara nodded, playing along.

“I’d appreciate that. Whenever you have time.” She rocked on her heels, mustering the will to turn and walk away. She didn’t want to; she wanted to keep basking in Lena’s presence. But she had to maintain some discipline.

Lena gave a final nod, then pivoted to her car. Kara watched as Lena unlocked it with a beep and slid into the driver’s seat. The Tesla’s headlights bathed the street in white for a moment. Lena caught Kara’s eye through the windshield and lifted a hand in a small wave. Kara waved back, a touch forlornly, and then forced herself to turn and head down the pavement as Lena’s car pulled out.

Lena’s phone buzzed against the console the moment she turned onto the main road. Jack Spheer, read the caller ID.

She sighed. Debated letting it ring out. Then tapped her earpiece.

“Jack.”

“Hey,” his voice crackled gently through the car’s Bluetooth. “You’re not screening me. That’s progress.”

“I was in a meeting. You caught me on the way out.”

“Good timing then,” Jack said, his tone careful. “I won’t keep you. Just… one last try. About protection.”

Lena tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Jack, not this again.”

“I know you don’t want a detail. Or surveillance. Or anything that looks like control. But the threats aren’t going away. And I worry—”

“I don’t need another lecture,” she cut in, sharper than she meant to. “I’m managing it. I’ve reinforced my systems, rotated routes, locked down internal protocols. Whoever these cowards are, they’ll find I’m not so easily rattled.”

A pause. Then Jack’s voice, softer: “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

Lena’s jaw set. “Welcome to being a Luthor.”

Jack exhaled. “Okay. I get it. But I need you to know something. I’m heading to Switzerland in the morning—CERN. We’ve got a data-sharing agreement with the collider team. Couple of weeks, maybe more.”

“Switzerland?” Her tone was curious, not quite surprised. “Since when are you a particle physicist?”

“I fake it well enough in front of the right donors,” he said, managing a smile in his voice. “But I won’t be around. And I can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming.”

Lena kept her eyes on the road. The sky above London was already softening into evening blue.

“You’re worried.”

“I’m terrified,” Jack admitted. “And I know you won’t let me protect you. But please… if anything feels off—anything—talk to someone. Anyone. I don’t care if it’s the barista at your local café, just don’t go through it alone.”

Lena didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was low. “Have a safe flight.”

“Lena—”

“Seriously, Jack. Go discover the universe. I’ll still be here, annoying and impossible to kill.”

“…I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

The call disconnected with a soft beep. Lena didn’t say goodbye.

Kara walked slowly, listening as the quiet hum of the electric engine faded. Only once Lena had driven around the corner did Kara spring into action. She ducked into the shadow of a recessed shop doorway and peered around the brick edge, her sharp gaze tracking the street. In seconds, her brain toggled fully to security mode: Was anyone following Lena’s car? Any vehicle pulling out after it? The street remained largely empty; a lone black cab trundled by, but turned the opposite direction.

Kara blew out a breath that misted in the cold air. She would have preferred to tail Lena more directly, but on foot that was impossible and she didn’t have a secondary vehicle waiting (the DEO avoided putting any obvious assets near Lena unless absolutely needed). Instead, she pulled out her phone. Keeping the screen shielded, she sent a quick coded text to the DEO field team: Client en route home. OPS confirm surveillance on her 6? The reply came a few seconds later: Affirmative. All clear, will advise if tail.

Satisfied that Lena was under watch at least for her drive, Kara allowed herself to breathe a little easier. She stepped out from the doorway and resumed walking, now towards her own vehicle parked discreetly a block away. She’d circle toward Lena’s neighbourhood after, just to double-check on things with her own eyes. Trust but verify. Even with the team on it, Kara felt a relentless need to ensure Lena’s safety personally.

As she walked, Kara replayed the evening in her mind. Her lips still held the ghost of a smile. It had gone about as well as she could have imagined. Lena had been receptive, open even. She had laughed and shared pieces of herself — a treasure Kara knew was not given lightly. And she had expressed trust. Trust. The very thing Lena struggled with most, she had extended to Kara. The weight of it made Kara almost nauseous with guilt now that she was alone.

Kara turned up her collar against a cutting breeze, her feet carrying her down the quiet side street where her car waited. In the silence, the self-recriminations she’d held at bay all evening came rushing in. How could she ever reconcile this? Lena’s trust and friendship blooming on one side, and on the other, the deception Kara maintained like a wall of glass — invisible but unyielding. Every smile Lena gave her, every candid admission, only added to the tally of things Kara would have to atone for when the truth eventually came out. And it would come out. Kara knew there was no scenario where Lena wouldn’t learn of the lie. Whether through success or calamity, the mission would end and her cover would shatter.

Kara’s stomach clenched. She didn’t care about the personal consequences — if Lena screamed at her, hated her, never wanted to see her again… Kara would accept that. But what kept Kara awake at night was the possibility that Lena’s burgeoning trust, so hard-won, would be irrevocably damaged for all time. That Lena would retreat deeper into isolation, convinced her faith in Kara had been nothing but a cruel joke. The thought made Kara almost physically ill. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, as if to dull the ache there. “This is the job,” she whispered to herself, voice tight. “Protect her, whatever the cost. Even this.”

The cold metal of the car door handle grounded her as she reached her unremarkable sedan. Kara rested her forehead a moment against the driver’s side window, eyes shut. She allowed one moment of weakness in that dark, empty street: a single tear escaped, tracing hot down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily. She couldn’t afford tears. Not now. Possibly not ever.

Climbing into the car, Kara forced her focus back to immediate concerns. She pulled out, driving not towards her flat but in the direction of Lena’s neighbourhood. The logical part of her argued that the DEO team had things covered tonight; she should stand down, get some rest. But the emotional core — the part of her that wouldn’t rest until she knew Lena was alright — won out. Just a quick pass. Just to be sure.

As she navigated the quiet late-night roads, Kara reflected that Alex’s warning about not losing perspective might already be a lost cause. Her perspective was irrevocably skewed: she didn’t just see a principal to protect, she saw Lena. Brilliant, kind, lonely Lena, who wore bravery like armour but carried unspoken hurt beneath. Lena, who for all her reservations had given Kara a glimpse of her true self tonight. Who had offered friendship, perhaps more, unknowing of the lie between them.

Kara’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She yearned to be worthy of that offer. To strip away the false pretence and stand honest before Lena, to tell her I’m here because someone wants to harm you and I can’t let that happen — not just because it’s my job, but because I care. But that confession at this stage would only terrify and betray Lena in a far worse way. It was a bitter truth: protecting Lena meant lying to Lena. Her heart rebelled at it even as her mind affirmed its necessity.

“Controlled distance,” Kara muttered, repeating the mantra Alex had drilled before she left for London. Stay close, but keep your distance. Care, but not too much. Protect her, but don’t love her. Easier said than done. Kara wondered bleakly if she hadn’t already breached that last directive. Was she in love? The word seemed premature, absurd — they’d only just begun to know each other. And yet, what she felt was not a simple camaraderie or fleeting attraction. It was deeper, a gravitational pull. As if Lena had reached in and gently taken hold of something at Kara’s very core. Something Kara herself had thought long dormant.

She pulled onto a road a block away from Lena’s home — a modern, upscale building with security access, which she knew Lena’s flat occupied the top floor of. Kara cruised slowly, eyes scanning. Nothing. No suspicious parked vans, no lurking figures. The street was silent except for a fox darting by and the soft glow of street lamps on wet pavement. Her phone vibrated with an update: Client home. Secure for the night.

Kara allowed herself a sigh of relief. She pictured Lena upstairs in her penthouse, perhaps shrugging off her coat, maybe pouring a cup of herbal tea to wind down. Maybe even smiling to herself about something Kara said. The thought gave Kara an irrational spark of joy.

Satisfied there was no immediate danger in the vicinity, Kara drove on towards her own flat. Exhaustion was creeping in, both from the heightened emotions and the late hour. Yet her mind refused to fully quiet. When she finally arrived home and climbed into bed, the pillow still faintly smelled of Lena’s perfume — or was that her imagination imprinting it everywhere? Kara lay awake staring at the ceiling for a long while.

Her life had been so simple, in its austere, lonely way, before this assignment. Now everything was complicated. She had to be two people at once: Kara Danvers, attentive friend and blossoming love interest perhaps; and Agent Danvers, silent guardian and liar. The two halves were at war within her, and Kara feared one would inevitably consume the other.

She turned on her side, curling up against the chill in the sheets. A memory drifted to her — Lena at the restaurant, head tilted laughing at one of Kara’s jokes, the lines of stress smoothed from her face in that moment. Kara clung to that image. If nothing else, tonight she’d given Lena a few hours of uncomplicated enjoyment amidst the storm of her life. That was worth something.

In a few days, maybe sooner, the threats hovering over Lena could manifest in real danger. Kara’s presence would be vital then. That’s what she had to focus on: the tangible protection she could provide. Her feelings, her guilt — those would have to wait. She would bear the moral injury silently, carry it as penance, if it meant Lena’s life was saved.

As she finally drifted into a fitful sleep, Kara’s last conscious thought was a quiet promise echoing in her heart: she would keep this controlled distance, walk the line between truth and lies, for as long as it took. And if the cost of Lena’s safety was her own heartbreak, then so be it. Kara would pay it, gladly, a hundred times over.

Chapter Text

Kara woke with a start to the trill of her secure phone. For a disoriented second, she didn’t remember where she was. The ceiling above was dark, unfamiliar—London, her mind supplied, Lena’s city. The phone persisted, a muted buzz against the nightstand. Kara’s hand shot out, heart already thudding as if her body knew before her brain that something was wrong. 2:13 AM. She hadn’t been asleep long.

She swiped the call open. “Danvers,” she rasped, voice still thick with sleep. Only a handful of people had this number. At this hour it could only mean trouble. Her eyes were already adjusting to the darkness, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

Brainy’s filtered voice came through, calm but urgent: “Intruder alert. Lena’s building garage. Motion sensor tripped near her vehicle.”

Kara was on her feet before he finished the sentence. The fog of exhaustion evaporated, replaced by a cold, clear focus. “Visual?” she asked in a harsh whisper, simultaneously yanking on the pair of jeans she’d flung over a chair and shoving her feet into shoes. She balanced the phone between ear and shoulder. One hand automatically reached under her pillow for the compact taser she kept close. As Kara snatched it and a small canister of pepper spray, Brainy responded.

“Grainy image… a single figure, hooded, currently by the driver’s side door. Can’t get facial recognition from this angle.” A pause. “Local police response is eight minutes out at best. I assume you—”

“I’m closer,” Kara cut in, already shrugging on a hoodie over her t-shirt. She didn’t bother with her contacts or glasses; there was no time to don the writer disguise. Lena won’t see me, she told herself. She can’t, not if I do this right. “I’ll handle it.”

She hung up and bolted for the door, grabbing her keys. The building she’d chosen as a cover residence was only a short drive from Lena’s. At this hour, the streets of London were nearly deserted, stretches of slick pavement shining under sodium lamps. Kara’s old sedan roared to life, and she sped through the sleeping city with single-minded purpose. Each tick of the indicator, each flash of a traffic light changing, felt agonizingly slow.

Hang on, Lena. I’m coming. The thought was a mantra, keeping time with the pounding of her pulse. Kara’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel as she careened around a corner. She kept her headlights off as she approached Lena’s block, coasting the last hundred meters in near silence. The upscale apartment building loomed ahead, ten floors of glass and steel, dark at this hour save for dim lobby lights. Kara eased the car to a quiet stop under the cover of a plane tree.

The street was silent. A few parked cars glistened with recent rain. In the hush, Kara could hear her own breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she slipped out of her car and into the night. A fox darted across the road, a quick flash of red fur that vanished into an alley. Everything else was still. Too still.

Kara moved swiftly, hugging the shadows along the building’s side. There was a ramp leading down to the underground garage; the security gate stood open, likely forced. A faint clang echoed from below—metal on metal, the sound of someone prying or cutting. Kara’s jaw tightened. There.

She descended the ramp soundlessly, pressing her back to the concrete wall at the bottom. The garage was dimly lit by emergency bulbs, casting long, eerie shadows between rows of parked vehicles. Lena’s black Tesla sat in the far corner, partly concealed by a pillar. And there, crouched near the front wheel, was a dark figure. A hood obscured his face. In one hand he held a short tool—wire cutters, from the glint of it.

Kara’s blood ran cold. He’s sabotaging the car. In a flash she imagined the worst: Lena driving tomorrow, brakes failing on the motorway… Kara forced the thought away, focusing on the immediate threat. The man hadn’t noticed her; he was intent on something beneath the car, muttering to himself. He was maybe ten yards away.

Silently, Kara slipped the pepper spray from her pocket and crept closer, keeping low behind a parked sedan. Stay calm. Don’t blow your cover. She could take him down in a heartbeat, but a trained takedown would raise more questions than it solved if anyone saw. Surprise and speed—those would be her weapons now.

She inched closer, her soft-soled trainers making no sound on the concrete. The intruder grunted, wrenching at something with the cutters. Kara’s keen eyes caught a dripping line of fluid on the ground near his knees—slick and amber under the dim light. Brake fluid. Her teeth clenched. He was cutting the brake lines. If Lena had driven off… Kara swallowed, fury tightening her throat. Whoever this was, he intended real harm.

Within a few steps now. Kara was almost directly behind him, hidden by the Tesla’s bulk. Her heart thumped, but her hands were steady as she raised the pepper spray. One chance. She lunged.

The man sensed movement and started to whirl around, but it was too late. Kara pressed the nozzle and a concentrated jet of capsaicin blasted into the intruder’s face. He yelled—a strangled, panicked sound—and fell back against the car. The wire cutters clattered to the ground.

Kara sprang forward, shoving him hard away from Lena’s vehicle. He staggered, blinded, swiping at his eyes with one hand. “Who—” he gasped, voice choked with pain and surprise. Kara didn’t answer. She delivered a swift kick to his knee, just enough to buckle him, then swung her forearm towards his head to knock him out before he could recover.

But the intruder was quick in his own right—more steady than she expected for someone half-blinded. He flailed wildly and managed to twist aside, so Kara’s strike glanced off his shoulder instead of his skull. He howled and lashed out in return. In the gloom, Kara caught the moonlit arc of a blade. She jerked back instinctively; the knife’s tip sliced through the air where her abdomen had been a split-second before.

They circled each other in the narrow space. The man’s breaths were ragged, his eyes streaming tears from the pepper spray. Kara could see enough of his face now—a scraggly beard, skin flushed red with chemical irritation. Fury rolled off him in waves. He lunged again, slashing clumsily. This time Kara was ready. She sidestepped and caught his wrist, slamming it down onto the Tesla’s hood. The knife clanged on the metal and skittered to the ground.

“Bitch!” he spat, voice breaking. Blindly, he swung his free fist at her. It connected with Kara’s left arm, a glancing blow, but she felt a sharp sting slice across her forearm—he’d had another blade? No, likely the same knife had nicked her before falling. Pain flared hot, but Kara gritted her teeth. She twisted the man’s wrist, forcing another anguished yell, and wrenched his arm up behind his back in a submission hold.

For a heartbeat, she considered ending this properly—slamming him down until he was unconscious, zip-tying his hands, holding him for the authorities. It would be so easy. It would also raise far too many questions. A lone novelist overpowering a would-be killer? Even in the chaos, Kara knew she had to keep the illusion.

She made a split-second decision. With her free hand she snatched the fallen pepper spray canister from where it lay on the concrete and, from over the man’s shoulder, blasted another punishing stream into his face at point-blank range. His scream was inhuman. He threw his weight wildly sideways, ripping out of Kara’s grasp with a strength born of panic. Before she could grab him again, he bolted.

Kara stumbled, coughing as some of the acrid mist hit her own lungs. By the time she recovered and dashed into the open, the intruder was crashing out through the security gate, one hand pressed to his burning eyes. She chased him up the ramp, but at the top he swung blindly at her with something—perhaps he’d snatched up his knife again; Kara saw a flash of metal sweep past her face. She ducked back to avoid it, and in those precious seconds, he vanished into the night. A dark figure sprinting across the street and into an warren of side alleys. Kara sprinted a few steps after him, but as she emerged onto the sidewalk, a car horn blared down the block. Two headlights blossomed at the far end of the alley—the intruder jumping into a waiting vehicle, perhaps. The black sedan peeled off into the maze of roads before Kara could catch more than a partial plate. Then all fell silent once more. He was gone.

Kara stood heaving for breath in the empty street, the cold air biting into her lungs. Her arm throbbed where the blade had grazed it, and the pungent smell of pepper spray clung to her clothes. Damn it! She hadn’t expected him to have backup or the wherewithal to escape. Still, the immediate threat was over. Her eyes swept the surroundings, ensuring no other attackers lurked. Nothing moved but the restless flicker of a streetlamp and her own shadow beneath it. Slowly, she allowed herself to exhale. Lena was safe—for now.

As if conjured by the thought, a new sound cut into the quiet: the low groan of a heavy door opening. Kara spun toward Lena’s building entrance just as Lena herself came rushing out.

Lena was barefoot, clad in silk pyjamas half-hidden under a hastily thrown-on trench coat. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her eyes were wide with alarm. She must have been roused by the commotion. Behind her in the doorway, the night concierge hovered, looking flustered and uncertain whether to follow. Lena had paused just outside the lobby, one hand braced on the doorframe as if steadying herself. Her gaze snapped from the damaged garage gate to Kara standing in the street. Recognition flared in those green eyes, surprise and confusion mingled there.

“Kara?” Lena called, her voice high with disbelief. “What on earth—?” She took a step forward, barefoot on the cold stone step, then halted. Her eyes fell on the pepper spray canister still clutched in Kara’s hand, then to the dark stain on Kara’s left forearm where blood was seeping through her sleeve. Alarm flashed across Lena’s face. “Are you hurt?”

Kara glanced down at herself. Adrenaline had masked the pain until now; seeing the blood made the cut throb anew. She quickly slid the pepper spray into her hoodie pocket and pressed her other palm over the wound to hide it. Think, think.She hadn’t expected to be face-to-face with Lena tonight. Certainly not like this. She forced a shaky laugh as she stepped away from the alley’s mouth, towards Lena. “It’s fine, it’s nothing,” she managed, voice a little unsteady from exertion. “Lena, are you alright?”

“Am I—? Kara, what happened?” Lena was coming closer now, crossing the small forecourt with quick strides. The trench coat flapped around her calves. She didn’t seem to notice the biting chill on her bare feet. Her focus was entirely on Kara. Above, one of the neighbors’ lights flipped on, no doubt disturbed by the earlier shout, but Lena didn’t look away. “I heard—there was a scream, and—” Her eyes darted past Kara, toward the street beyond. “I think I saw someone running. Was that… did you—”

Kara held up her free hand, trying to project calm. She realized she was trembling, an aftereffect of adrenaline and the sudden confrontation with Lena. “It’s okay. He’s gone,” she said softly. “I scared him off.”

“He?” Lena echoed. She stopped just short of Kara, their breath intermingling in the frigid air. Her face was pale under the streetlight’s glow, a few freckles standing out on the bridge of her nose. “Someone was here? By my car?”

Kara nodded, heart twisting at the fear she heard beneath Lena’s questions. Even now, Lena was fighting to maintain her composure—chin lifted, shoulders squared—but her voice betrayed her. Kara longed to reach out and steady her, to promise safety. But she had to maintain her own composure first. “I was walking nearby and I… I noticed a man in your garage,” Kara improvised gently. “It looked like he was messing with your car, so I intervened.”

“Intervened,” Lena repeated, astonishment and concern warring on her face. Her gaze swept over Kara from head to toe, as if truly registering now that Kara was here, at two in the morning, disheveled in a hoodie and jeans, clearly fresh from a scuffle. “Kara, you were walking here? At this hour?”

Kara flushed faintly. She had hoped Lena wouldn’t question that detail too much in the shock of the moment, but of course Lena’s keen mind missed nothing. Kara offered a lopsided, sheepish smile. “I… sometimes can’t sleep. And I’d had such a good time tonight, my mind was buzzing. So I went out for a late drive to clear my head.” She shrugged, trying to appear casual. “I ended up near your place, and I remembered you said your building wasn’t far. I thought I’d swing by to—to see it from outside.” It sounded flimsy even to her own ears, but Kara pressed on. “Then I saw the garage gate open and a man hunched by a car. It took me a second to realize it was your Tesla.”

A small frown line appeared between Lena’s brows. She listened intently, her arms wrapping around herself tightly as if only now feeling the cold. “And you decided to confront him?”

“He looked like a thief,” Kara lied smoothly, drawing on every ounce of her undercover training to sound convincing. It wasn’t all a lie—he certainly had been stealing Lena’s sense of security, if nothing else. “I didn’t think. I just reacted. I shouted and, um, gave him a blast of pepper spray. I carry it when I walk alone.” That at least had the virtue of truth. Kara gingerly lifted her hand from her wounded arm; in the low light and beneath the dark fabric, the blood wasn’t obvious. “We struggled and he ran off. I’m so sorry if I scared you.”

Lena stared at her for a long moment. The tension in her stance slowly ebbed as Kara’s words sank in. “You… chased off an intruder,” Lena murmured, a note of wonder in her tone. “All by yourself.” She shook her head, disbelieving and impressed and horrified all at once. “God, Kara, that’s incredibly brave and also incredibly foolish. He could have hurt you. He did hurt you.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to Kara’s arm, where a small, dark wet patch had seeped through the sweatshirt sleeve. “Don’t bother denying it—I see the blood.”

Kara winced. So much for hiding it. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, but her voice was gentle. The last thing she wanted was Lena blaming herself. “Just a scratch. I’m fine.” Up close now, she could see Lena’s chest heaving faintly, as if she’d sprinted out of her flat. Lena’s hands were trembling where they gripped her own elbows. Without thinking, Kara reached out and rested her hand lightly on Lena’s shoulder. “Are you okay? Did he frighten you?”

Lena let out a breath that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and shaky. “I woke to the sound of metal on metal, then someone screaming,” she admitted. “It scared the life out of me. I looked out from my balcony and saw… I thought I saw you, but I told myself I was mistaken.” She managed a thin, wry smile. “Clearly I wasn’t.” Her eyes glimmered with something intense as she searched Kara’s face. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Kara felt her heart give a dangerous squeeze. The way Lena said it—soft, almost grateful—made it sound like Kara’s presence meant something more than a lucky coincidence. In that moment, under the hazy glow of the streetlamp, Kara wished she could tell her everything: I’m here because I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’m here because protecting you is more important to me than my next breath. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Instead, Kara coaxed a lighter tone into her voice. “I suppose I picked a good night to go on a 2AM stroll.” She attempted a lopsided grin. “Right place, right time.”

Lena’s lips parted, a retort on her tongue, but just then the building concierge appeared in the doorway, hovering anxiously. “Dr. Luthor?” he called. “Shall I call the police?” Clearly the man had been unsure whether to act without Lena’s go-ahead.

Lena tore her gaze from Kara and turned to address him. Her executive mask slid back into place, even barefoot in pyjamas; she was composed authority. “Yes. Please ring them, Martin, and have them send someone to take a report.” She glanced uneasily towards the street where the intruder had fled. “Although I suspect he’s long gone.”

The concierge nodded and ducked back inside. Lena faced Kara again, and now that the immediate adrenaline was fading, a wave of weariness and vulnerability crossed her features. She ran a hand over her forehead. “This is… this is too much,” she murmured, almost to herself. Kara realized with a jolt that Lena was truly shaken—far more than she was letting on. Lena Luthor prided herself on control, but tonight control had been wrenched away.

Kara gently laid a hand at Lena’s elbow. “Let’s go inside,” she urged softly. The night air was icy and Kara could see Lena’s feet visibly shivering against the stone. “You’re freezing. And we should clean up my arm before the police arrive, so it doesn’t look like more than it is.” She offered a reassuring smile she hoped would ground Lena. “I promise, I’m alright. Better me than you.”

That last sentence slipped out without thought, but Lena heard it. Her eyes softened, a flash of pain in them. “Never better,” she whispered. “I never wanted anyone hurt in my stead.” She hesitated, then placed her hand over Kara’s where it still touched her elbow. “But… thank you. For being here. I don’t understand it, but thank you.” Her fingers briefly squeezed Kara’s, a warm pressure that sent a tingling awareness through Kara’s arm more acute than the sting of her cut.

They walked back into the building together. The concierge had wisely retreated to give them some privacy. The lobby was all marble and hushed elegance, but at this hour it was deserted. Their footsteps echoed as Lena guided Kara to the lift. Neither spoke during the short ascent to the penthouse; the adrenaline comedown was hitting, leaving them in a mutual, charged silence. Kara cradled her injured arm, more to avoid dripping blood on Lena’s pristine floor than out of pain. Beside her, Lena stared at the lift doors, lost in thought. The only movement was a tiny tremor in Lena’s hand, which she quickly hid by clenching a fist at her side.

When the doors opened directly into Lena’s apartment, Kara had to remind herself to focus. She’d been in here once before—briefly, when she first scoped out Lena’s residence weeks ago—but never as an invited guest. The penthouse was dim, lit only by the glow of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. Lena flipped a switch, and soft recessed lighting warmed the space.

Kara took in the surroundings as unobtrusively as she could. It was undeniably luxurious: an open-plan living room with modern furniture in whites and charcoals, a marble fireplace unlit along one wall, abstract art pieces tastefully placed. Yet despite the expense, it felt lived-in rather than sterile. A plush throw was draped over one end of the sofa; a half-read book lay open on the coffee table next to a mug, tea gone cold. There were small touches of Lena’s personality—an elegant telescope by the window, pointed at the sky; a single orchid plant on a side table; shelves of books whose spines were cracked and well-loved. Even in its current state of subtle disarray, the space echoed Lena’s dual nature: controlled beauty on the surface, but quietly vulnerable underneath.

“Sit,” Lena instructed softly, gesturing to one of the bar stools by the kitchen island. “I’ll get the first aid kit.” The authoritative CEO tone wavered as she added, “And perhaps some tea… or whisky. I think we could both use it.”

Kara managed a faint chuckle. “Tea would be lovely.” In truth, something stronger might have steadied her nerves, but she didn’t want anything clouding her mind tonight. She perched obediently on the stool. Now that she was in the light, she saw the gash on her arm clearly: a few inches long, cutting through her sleeve. It wasn’t too deep—more of a slash than a stab—but blood had trickled in a thin line to her wrist. Kara grimaced and peeled off her hoodie, leaving her in a short-sleeve t-shirt. The cool air hit the dampness on her skin, making her shiver.

Lena returned quickly with a sleek white first aid box and a small towel. Without a word, she draped the towel gently around Kara’s shoulders from behind. Kara realized it was to keep her warm—an unexpectedly tender gesture. Lena then set the kit down and opened it, her movements efficient, though Kara noticed she took a steadying breath as she saw the injury.

“It looks worse than it is,” Kara offered, trying to make light of it. Lena answered with a dubious arch of her brow but said nothing. She cleaned her hands with an antiseptic wipe, then reached for Kara’s arm.

“May I?” she asked, ever polite even in urgency.

Kara nodded. “Of course.”

Lena’s fingers were cool and precise as she inspected the cut. Her touch was gentle, but Kara still sucked in a breath as disinfectant made contact. “Sorry,” Lena murmured. She was entirely focused, her lips pressed thin in concentration as she dabbed carefully. “No sign of glass or debris… the edges are clean. He probably got you with a knife.” The clinical assessment in her tone couldn’t hide the anger simmering beneath. Kara could feel a slight tremble in Lena’s fingers as she worked.

“It all happened so fast,” Kara said quietly. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Lena or herself. Her eyes wandered to Lena’s face. A strand of dark hair had come loose from the ponytail, and Kara had the sudden urge to brush it back behind Lena’s ear. She restrained herself, balling her hand in the towel instead. “I’m just glad you didn’t come down while he was there. He was looking to hurt you, Lena.”

Lena’s hand paused mid-clean. She met Kara’s gaze, and Kara saw the conflict swirling in those green depths—fear, guilt, and a spark of defiance. “I know,” Lena whispered. “I’ve known since the threats began that whoever it is might escalate. I just…” She swallowed, turning back to her task to avoid Kara’s eyes. “I thought I could handle it. That it was just bluster. Or at least that if something happened, I’d be the one facing it. Not you or anyone else.” She began applying a thin layer of antibiotic ointment along the wound, her touch feather-light. “I hate that you got hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt helping you,” Kara corrected softly. The sting on her arm was nothing compared to the ache in her chest at Lena’s self-recrimination. “And I’d do it again without a second thought. So don’t you apologize.” Her fervency made Lena glance up. Kara offered a crooked smile to soften it. “Besides, you’ve given me more than enough help with my so-called novel. Consider this me repaying the favor a bit.”

That earned a weak chuckle from Lena, a breath of warmth through the tension. “Some favor. Most people settle for a thank-you card or a nice bottle of wine, not fisticuffs in the dead of night.”

Kara couldn’t help but grin. “What can I say? I go the extra mile.”

Lena shook her head in something like amazement, and for a moment they shared a small smile—just two women on a kitchen stool in the middle of an absurd night. Then Lena secured a clean bandage over the cut, smoothing the adhesive edges carefully against Kara’s skin. Her fingertips lingered a second longer than strictly necessary, resting against the steady beat of Kara’s pulse at her wrist. When Lena finally withdrew her hand, she did so slowly, almost unwillingly.

“There,” she said, voice a touch husky. “All patched up.” She closed the first aid kit, but made no move to step away. They were close enough that Kara could see the faint constellation of hazel in Lena’s irises, the way her pupils were still dilated with adrenaline. Close enough that the scent of Lena’s subtle jasmine perfume, warmed by her skin, enveloped Kara in a familiar hush. It struck Kara that she had dreamed of a moment like this—Lena tending to her with such care—yet never imagined it would spring from danger.

Kara flexed her fingers, testing the bandage. “Thank you, Doctor Luthor,” she quipped gently. “Impeccable bedside manner.”

Lena huffed a soft breath that might have been a laugh if not weighed down by everything. She closed the distance to the sink to toss the stained wipes, then leaned on the counter, her back to Kara for a moment. Kara watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. When Lena turned around again, her composure was back in place, but her eyes were glassy. “I’ll make that tea,” she said quietly, as if recalling the plan. “Chamomile alright?”

“Chamomile’s perfect.” Kara slid off the stool, unsure if she should give Lena some space or stay near. The adrenaline had fled her system entirely now, leaving her a bit light-headed and acutely aware of the emotional undercurrents swirling between them. She busied herself by folding the towel Lena had given her, trying not to think about how intimate this all felt.

As Lena busied herself with the kettle—filling it, setting it to boil—her movements were brisk, but Kara didn’t miss the slight tremor in her hand as she retrieved two mugs. The kitchen fell into a hush broken only by the hum of the kettle and the distant sounds of the city outside.

Kara’s eyes drifted to the large windows. From up here, London was a carpet of lights, beautiful and indifferent. She felt a flash of anger at those distant lights—how could the world look so normal when Lena’s world had nearly been upended tonight? Kara had learned to live with danger as a constant companion, but Lena… Lena had been determined to face her threats alone. And tonight, she nearly had, if Kara hadn’t come.

The thought made Kara’s stomach twist. She forced herself to speak, to break the silence gently. “Do you want to talk about it? The threats, I mean.” Her tone was soft, careful. She realized this might be the first time Lena knew for certain that threat wasn’t just in words but in action. That knowledge had to be terrifying, even if Lena hid it well.

Lena paused in the act of spooning tea leaves into a pot. Her back was partially to Kara, but her reflection in the dark window betrayed her hesitation. After a moment, she resumed her task, answering in a measured voice, “I suppose I should have told you sooner. You’ve become… a friend, after all. But I didn’t want to scare you off.” She glanced over her shoulder with a self-deprecating half-smile. “I have a bit of a situation. Some unpleasant people disapprove of my work, to put it mildly. It started with emails and letters. Tonight was the first time it’s become physical.”

Despite Kara’s effort to remain calm, her hands curled on the countertop, knuckles blanching. Unpleasant was a gross understatement. She knew exactly how vile those threats were—she’d read each one, tracked each one—but hearing Lena admit to them aloud was different. It made Kara’s chest burn. “Lena,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to live like that.”

Lena poured hot water into the teapot, her gaze fixed on the rising steam. “I told myself I could handle it. That giving the harassment oxygen by acknowledging it would only make it worse. Perhaps that was naive.” She swallowed. “When it was just words, I could compartmentalize. But tonight…” She set the kettle down with a clatter she probably hadn’t intended. “Tonight it became real in a way I can’t ignore.”

Kara rounded the island slowly, coming to stand beside Lena. She kept a respectful distance of a foot or so, enough not to crowd her, but near enough that Lena would feel she wasn’t alone. “The police will investigate,” Kara offered, though she knew full well how these things could go. The intruder might vanish, or be a pawn who knew little. “And you have me.” She dared to touch Lena’s arm lightly, a brief press of reassurance. “Friend or not, I’m here for you.”

Lena looked at Kara’s hand on her arm, then up to Kara’s face. In the gentle light of the kitchen, Lena’s eyes shone with unshed tears that she refused to let fall. “You say that,” she whispered, voice tight, “but you hardly know me. And you owe me nothing.” Her composure cracked just a fraction, revealing raw vulnerability beneath. “I struggle to trust people, Kara. Maybe that’s obvious. So many have shown their worst. But tonight… you showed up. You saved me, even if you think it’s just chasing off a thief.” She managed a watery smile. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Kara’s throat constricted. If you only knew, she thought, despair and affection flooding her. Instead of speaking, she shook her head and gave a gentle squeeze to Lena’s arm. “There’s no need to thank me. Truly. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

They stood there, close and quiet, the tea steeping forgotten behind them. Kara could hear the faint tick of the kitchen clock, the distant wail of a siren somewhere far in the city. Here in this cocoon of warmth, an entirely different sort of tension had settled—one laden not with fear, but with the unspoken bond between them.

Lena was looking at her intently, the kind of look that made Kara feel as if Lena saw far more than she let on. Kara suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was standing in Lena’s home in just her t-shirt, that Lena’s gaze had flickered to the scar on Kara’s shoulder (partially visible where the neckline had shifted) before returning to her face. Kara opened her mouth to say something—what, she didn’t know—but in that instant Lena stepped forward, closing the final inches between them.

The air shifted. Lena’s hand lifted, then hovered near Kara’s cheek, not quite touching. “You have a smudge…” Lena murmured. Her thumb gently brushed the curve of Kara’s cheekbone, wiping away something—soot from the garage, maybe, or an errant tear Kara hadn’t realized escaped. The touch was tender, achingly so. Kara felt her breath catch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was thanking Lena for—the cleaned smudge, the kindness, or something far less tangible. Her gaze locked onto Lena’s. There it was again: that pull, like gravity, drawing them into each other’s orbit with irresistible force. Kara’s heart stumbled into a rapid staccato. She could see the rapid flutter of Lena’s pulse at her throat, could almost feel the warmth radiating from Lena’s skin.

Neither seemed willing to move away. The distance between their faces was minimal now, maybe a hand-span. Lena’s eyes drifted to Kara’s lips—briefly, as if in spite of herself—and Kara felt a deep answering tug low in her stomach. She shouldn’t. She mustn’t. This was the adrenaline, the relief, the emotional fallout of a dangerous night. It was a thousand wrong reasons and yet Kara couldn’t recall a single one as Lena’s palm finally cupped her cheek.

“Kara,” Lena breathed, her voice barely there. It held a question, a hesitation heavy with hope and fear.

Kara’s resolve shattered. Just once, a voice pleaded inside her. Just once let me have something real, untainted by lies. She knew it wouldn’t be untainted—her whole presence here was a lie—but in this sliver of time, Kara let herself forget. She answered Lena not with words but by leaning in, slowly, giving Lena every chance to stop her.

Lena didn’t pull back. She closed the last whisper of space between them. Their lips met—softly, tentatively—each of them trembling on the brink. Kara felt Lena’s breath catch the instant before contact, felt a delicate exhale against her mouth as they found each other.

The first brush was feather-light, a question posed in warmth and trembling uncertainty. Kara’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation: Lena’s lips on hers, unbelievably gentle, tasting of mint and a hint of salt from unshed tears. A small, broken sound escaped Lena’s throat, and something in Kara ignited.

She tilted her head and pressed in a little more firmly, answering that sound with a quiet sigh of her own. Lena responded in kind, her other hand rising to rest against Kara’s other cheek, as if afraid Kara might disappear if she didn’t hold on. The kiss deepened by fractions, a cautious dance. Lena’s lips were soft, searching; Kara followed her lead, gentle, then braver when Lena let out a soft gasp and parted her lips just slightly.

Kara’s heart soared and splintered all at once. The taste of Lena, the feel of Lena leaning into her—desperate and sweet—was everything she had forbidden herself to want. It was dizzying, like standing too close to the edge of a cliff and feeling the earth tilt. Kara’s hands found Lena’s waist almost by instinct. The silk of her pyjama shirt bunched in Kara’s fingers as she clutched it, steadying them both. She felt Lena’s body against hers, the subtle curves and the rapid thrum of Lena’s heartbeat where their chests brushed.

For a few perfect seconds, nothing existed but this: the quiet hum of Lena’s breath as their lips moved together, the way Lena’s lashes fluttered against Kara’s skin when she angled closer, the heat blooming in Kara’s chest that chased away every chill of the night. Lena’s fingers threaded into Kara’s hair, tentative at first and then curling with a sort of aching need. It drew a gentle groan from Kara, the sound vibrating between their joined mouths. The kiss, once so tentative, briefly grew bolder. Lena pressed closer, her leg brushing Kara’s; Kara answered with a soft, helpless sweep of her tongue against Lena’s lower lip, tasting the hint of chamomile that lingered on her.

The sensation sent a shiver through Lena; Kara felt it distinctly, felt Lena’s fingers tighten ever so slightly in her hair. It would be so easy to let this deepen further, to lose herself entirely in Lena’s embrace. Kara could already feel a warmth coiling in her belly, an insistent craving for more of Lena’s touch, more of her kisses to drown out every doubt.

But with that desire came crashing reality. It struck without warning: the thought of why she was really here, of what peril had just brushed by, of the secrets still wedged between them. Kara suddenly heard Alex’s voice in her head—Keep your head, Kara. Don’t get too close. And her own voice, from earlier in the night: Protect her, whatever the cost.

Kara’s eyes snapped open, the kiss stilling as her conscience roared back to life. What was she doing? She had nearly gotten Lena killed tonight; she should be focused on fortifying Lena’s safety, not… not kissing her. And certainly not under false pretenses. Guilt speared through Kara’s chest so sharply that it stole her breath.

She tore her lips away, breaking the kiss as gently as she could even in her panic. Her hands released Lena’s waist and came up between them, a delicate barrier on Lena’s shoulders. They were both breathing hard—Lena’s eyes dark and clouded with emotion, Kara sure hers were much the same. Kara’s lips tingled with the imprint of Lena’s, and she had to fight the urge to lean back in. Instead she stepped back, letting her hands slip away. Immediately she felt cold, bereft of Lena’s warmth.

Lena blinked, confusion etching itself across her features. Her hands hovered in the air where Kara had been, then slowly fell to her sides. “Kara…?” Her voice was quiet, laced with hurt and uncertainty. The single word held a dozen questions. Why did you pull away? Did I do something wrong?

A surge of self-reproach rolled over Kara. She had put that uncertainty there. She could see Lena’s walls rebuilding in real time, the familiar guardedness gathering like a shield in those green eyes, now wide and glistening. Kara opened her mouth, words tumbling out clumsily. “I—I’m sorry.” She took another half-step back, wrapping her arms around herself. She could still feel the imprint of Lena’s body against hers, an ache she never knew she could feel. “Lena, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Her voice faltered. She struggled to articulate the storm inside her: the joy of the kiss and the agony of knowing it was founded on a lie. “That was… unfair of me.”

Lena’s brows knit, pain flickering into something like embarrassment. “Unfair?” She mirrored Kara’s defensive posture, crossing her arms tightly over her own body. Kara wanted to curse herself; Lena was retreating behind formality out of self-protection. “I thought—” Lena began, then stopped, biting her lip. When she continued, her tone was brittle. “Did I misread… everything?”

Kara’s heart nearly broke at the sound of it. She rushed to explain, stumbling over her own tongue. “No, no, you didn’t misread. It’s not that I didn’t want—” She huffed in frustration and ran a hand through her hair, noticing only then that Lena’s touch had left it mussed. “I did want to. God, Lena, I wanted to—” Her cheeks burned, and she pressed her lips together, collecting herself. “It’s just been a… a very intense night. You’re upset, and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

A silence hung between them. The kettle clicked off automatically, the tea likely over-steeped now, but neither woman moved to tend it. Lena’s guarded expression softened by a degree. “You think you were taking advantage?” she asked quietly. There was a note of disbelief in her voice, as if that concept was far-fetched.

Kara’s fingers flexed anxiously at her sides. “Maybe that’s not the right phrase,” she conceded. How could she explain without betraying her secrets? She swallowed hard. “I just… I wasn’t sure if that happened because you were afraid tonight. People sometimes—after a scare—”

“Turn to those they trust?” Lena finished for her. Her arms were still crossed, but a hint of vulnerability seeped through her braced stance. “Perhaps I did. I was—I am afraid, Kara. But not of you. With you, I—” She hesitated, eyes shining. “I feel safe.”

Those last words were a whisper, and they shot through Kara like an arrow. Lena did trust her, perhaps more than anyone right now. And how had Kara repaid that trust? By first lying, and now confusing her, hurting her feelings. Kara felt tears prick her own eyes, guilt and longing warring within. She stepped forward, not closing the distance entirely but enough that she could uncross Lena’s arms with a gentle touch if Lena allowed. She reached out slowly, her fingers just brushing Lena’s forearm. “You are safe with me,” Kara vowed, her voice thick. “I promise you, Lena. I would never let anyone harm you.” Even if the person harming you turns out to be me.

Lena looked at Kara’s tentative hand on her arm, then up to her face. Something in Kara’s expression must have convinced her of the earnestness of that promise. Lena’s rigidity melted by degrees. She uncrossed her arms herself and in a shaky exhale, she placed her hand over Kara’s once more. “I believe you,” she said softly. I trust you, she had said at dinner. Despite everything, that trust still held.

Kara closed her eyes for a moment, relief and shame washing through her. She gently curled her fingers around Lena’s, squeezing. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, more softly. “This is just… complicated. I don’t want to rush anything and then have you regret it in the morning.”

A faint, sad smile touched Lena’s lips. “I won’t regret it,” she murmured. “But I understand.” She looked away, and Kara could see her gathering herself, smoothing the raw edges of emotion once more. When Lena met her gaze again, she managed a small, gracious nod. “Perhaps we should just… call it a night, then.”

It was the polite thing to say. Kara hated it. She hated that she’d spoiled what could have been a beautiful moment by letting reality intrude. But perhaps Lena was right—they both needed time to process. The adrenaline and vulnerability of the night had swept them up; in the morning light they could decide where they truly stood. Still, the idea of leaving Lena alone now, after everything, felt wrong. Kara cleared her throat. “The police will likely be here soon to take the report. After that…” She hesitated. “Do you want me to stay? I can sleep on the couch. I’d just feel better knowing you’re alright until morning.”

Lena’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise. She regarded Kara for a moment that felt eternal. Finally, she gave a tiny nod. “If you’re willing… yes. I would actually appreciate that.” A ghost of a self-conscious laugh escaped her. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be alone with my thoughts just yet.”

The admission touched Kara deeply. “Of course,” she said at once, gentle. “Whatever you need.”

Some of the tension eased between them with that agreement. Lena directed Kara to a linen closet, and together they pulled out a spare pillow and a soft throw blanket for the couch. They moved around each other quietly, a bit awkward with unspoken words but still in tune in that peculiar way they had developed—anticipating each other’s steps, offering small, wordless gestures of help. By the time a buzzer announced the police had arrived, they had made the couch into a reasonable makeshift bed.

Two officers spent the next hour taking statements and examining the garage. Kara played the part of the concerned bystander throughout, downplaying her role in apprehending the intruder. She depicted him as a would-be car thief startled off by her shout and a lucky spray of pepper. The officers, eyeing Kara’s bandaged arm, advised her to get a tetanus booster and commended her bravery, but also gently chided that confronting criminals was best left to professionals. Kara ducked her head and agreed meekly, shooting Lena a rueful “I’ve been told” look that helped dispel the lingering awkwardness between them. Lena, for her part, was steady and cool recounting what little she witnessed. Only Kara noticed the slight quake in Lena’s hand when she signed the report.

When the police finally departed with promises to update them on any developments, it was nearly four in the morning. Exhaustion hung heavy now that the excitement had waned. Lena walked the officers out, speaking briefly with the concierge, and then it was just the two of them again in the silent penthouse.

They stood in the entryway together. Lena looked worn to the bone, dark shadows under her eyes, her shoulders drooping under the weight of the night. Kara longed to sweep her into a comforting hug, but she held herself back, unsure if that line had blurred too much already. Instead she offered a small smile. “It’s over for now. You should try to get some rest.”

Lena nodded, fiddling with the belt of her trench coat, which she still wore. “I suppose so.” She glanced toward the living area where the couch was prepared for Kara. “You’ll be comfortable there? I can get you anything else—”

“I’m comfortable,” Kara assured. “This is more than enough.” She stepped over and picked up the blanket, draping it over the couch’s arm for later. For a moment, she imagined an alternate universe where she wouldn’t be on the couch at all, but rather slipping into a warm bed beside Lena, holding her through what remained of the night. The yearning was so strong that Kara had to take a quiet, steadying breath. Not tonight. Possibly not ever, a mournful voice in her mind added.

Lena finally shrugged out of her trench coat and folded it over a chair. She then surprised Kara by walking up to her, stopping just within arm’s reach. “Kara,” she said softly. In her gaze was an earnestness that pinned Kara in place. “About earlier… please don’t apologize again. I’m not sorry it happened. I just—” Her teeth worried her bottom lip for an instant. “I hope you know that if I crossed a line, I…”

“You didn’t,” Kara interjected, her voice firm. She couldn’t bear for Lena to shoulder blame for that kiss. “You absolutely didn’t. If anything, I… leapt over the line and kept running.” That drew a tiny real smile from Lena. Kara continued, more softly, “I care about you, Lena. A great deal. I wasn’t rejecting you. I only meant that—given everything you’ve been through tonight—I didn’t want to confuse you or complicate things further.”

Lena studied her, and slowly some of the remaining tension eased from her face. “Alright,” she said quietly. The word held acceptance, if not full understanding. She glanced down, then up again. “For what it’s worth, nothing feels confusing to me… except perhaps why a brilliant, brave woman like you would even think twice about me.”

Kara’s throat tightened. Oh, Lena. If only you knew. The lies stood like an invisible wall between them, the one confusion Lena couldn’t see. Kara prayed that one day she could tear it down and still find that trust on the other side. But that was not tonight’s battle. For now, she simply murmured, “I think twice about everything. Comes with the writerly overthinking, I guess.”

Lena huffed a gentle breath, almost a laugh. “Then maybe I should think a little less.” She lifted a hand—then hesitated, before brushing her fingertips along Kara’s forearm just above the bandage. It was a tentative caress. “Thank you, again. For being here when I needed someone most.”

Kara felt that touch like a spark. She covered Lena’s hand with hers. “Always,” she found herself saying. The word hung between them, a vow and a secret all at once.

A beat passed. Then Lena nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. She withdrew her hand and took a step back toward the hallway leading to her bedroom. “Try to get some sleep, Kara. We’ll… talk in the morning.” The way she said it was gentle, hopeful even. It eased the clawing worry in Kara’s chest a little.

“Goodnight, Lena,” Kara said softly.

“Goodnight,” Lena replied. She hovered a moment longer, as if she might say something else. But she only offered a last, small smile—warm but laced with the night’s sadness—and then she turned and disappeared down the dim corridor.

Kara stood alone in the hush of the living room for a long moment after Lena’s door closed. Her legs felt suddenly heavy, as if the adrenaline that had fueled her earlier had turned to lead. Carefully, she sank down onto the sofa. The cushions sighed under her weight. The city lights cast a faint glow through the windows, illuminating the space in a silver-blue patina. On the coffee table, the abandoned pot of tea still sat, stone cold. Kara’s eyes fell on the open book there, the scattered evidence of Lena’s solitary evening before all this. The ache in her chest returned full force. Lena had been sitting here, reading and drinking tea, perhaps trying to distract herself from her fears—and instead fear had come barging in.

Kara rubbed a hand over her face. The events of the night spun through her mind on an endless loop: the shock of spotting the intruder, the raw terror at what could have happened, the rush of relief when Lena stepped out of that door unharmed. And then… then. Kara closed her eyes, the memory of that kiss flooding her senses. The softness of Lena’s lips, the way her own name sounded in Lena’s voice when she’d whispered it right before…

A tremor coursed through Kara. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth, as if she could still feel Lena there. In the darkness, she allowed herself one second—just one— to savor it: I kissed Lena Luthor, and she kissed me back. It felt like a dream, and yet the taste of her was very real, lingering on Kara’s lips like a promise. Or perhaps a curse, given how Kara had ended it.

With a quiet groan, Kara let her head fall back against the couch. The ceiling above was smooth and white and offered no answers. What have I done? She’d crossed a line she swore she wouldn’t. She could no longer pretend her feelings were contained. It had been so easy to get lost in Lena—in her sorrow and her strength and her undeniable allure. For a moment, Kara had allowed herself to be just a woman comforting another woman she cared for deeply. In that moment, she had forgotten the mission, the deception, everything except the simple, profound desire to bring Lena solace and maybe a sliver of happiness.

Now the weight of what that meant settled on her. This changed things. They couldn’t go back to polite distance now, not after the trust Lena had given her, not after the intimacy they’d tasted. Kara wasn’t sure she even wanted to go back. We’ll talk in the morning, Lena had said. Kara’s heart fluttered anxiously. What would she say? Perhaps Lena would want to pretend it never happened, chalk it up to high emotions. Perhaps she’d be cautious, worried Kara didn’t truly care beyond the heat of the moment. Or—perhaps—she’d want to explore whatever this was between them, to not let fear stop her. The yearning Kara had felt in Lena’s kiss suggested that might be the case.

Kara cradled her bandaged arm gently and pulled the blanket over herself. She replayed Lena’s parting words in her mind: With you, I feel safe. Despite everything, Kara felt a small smile tug at her lips. That, at least, was something good, something pure she could hold onto. No matter the lies, she had given Lena real comfort tonight. And if Lena could feel safe with her, maybe one day Lena could forgive her for the deceit—if Kara ever found the courage to reveal it.

But that bridge was far ahead. Right now, in the quiet pre-dawn stillness of Lena’s flat, Kara allowed herself to simply be present. She was here, under Lena’s roof, because Lena wanted her here. That thought warmed her as she settled onto the pillow. She turned on her side, facing the windows. From this angle she could just see a slice of sky beyond the skyline. The blackness was thinning to deep indigo—morning would come soon.

As she closed her eyes, Kara listened intently. Down the hall, there was no sound from Lena’s bedroom. Kara hoped Lena was finding some rest. She imagined her there: curled up in a big bed, perhaps hugging a pillow or lost in troubled dreams. Kara’s chest tightened with the urge to check on her, but she remained where she was. If Lena needed her, she was only a call away.

Minutes ticked by. Kara’s body was exhausted but her mind churned, reluctant to surrender to sleep. She kept replaying Alex’s reaction if she ever told her about tonight. This is a mistake, Kara had said in her imagination. I’m losing perspective. Yes, it certainly felt that way. But she could almost hear Alex’s dry comeback: Or finding it. What a maddeningly Alex-like thing to say. Kara huffed softly into the darkness. Trust her sister to imply that maybe this emotional freefall was what Kara needed all along.

She tugged the blanket tighter around herself, breathing in deeply. It smelled vaguely of lavender fabric softener—clean and calming. Or maybe that was Lena’s scent clinging to the living space. Either way, Kara felt her racing thoughts begin to slow. The adrenaline had burned itself out, leaving only bone-deep fatigue and a persistent, tender worry for the woman sleeping down the hall. Kara’s eyes grew heavy, her blinks longer each time.

Just before sleep claimed her, Kara’s last conscious thought floated up, quiet but resolute: I’ll keep her safe. No matter what. Whatever personal turmoil tonight’s events had unleashed, that promise remained the one truth Kara would never break. Lena trusted her, and Kara would guard that trust—and Lena’s life—with everything she had. Even if it meant silencing her own heart a while longer.

With that vow etched silently into the darkness, Kara finally drifted off, the first light of dawn just peeking over the city, heralding the uncertain morning to come.

Chapter Text

Lena Luthor watched the last golden rays of sunset bleed into the London skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse. Dusk painted her living room in hues of amber and gray. On the coffee table, takeout containers sat half-empty – the remnants of a quiet dinner for two. Across from her, Kara Danvers was curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, cradling a mug of chamomile tea between her hands. In the gentle light, Kara’s hair fell in soft waves around her face, and she looked so at home in Lena’s space that it made Lena’s chest ache with a warmth she was still learning to accept.

It had been two weeks since that harrowing night in the garage – two weeks since Kara had saved her from a faceless threat and since they’d shared a tentative, heart-shaking first kiss in Lena’s kitchen. In the days that followed, everything had shifted in subtle but profound ways. Kara was no longer just an intriguing stranger met by chance; she had quietly become Lena’s safe harbor in the storm that had taken over her life. And somehow, impossibly, Lena had allowed it. They were dating now, if one could call it that – though they hadn’t spoken the word aloud, not yet. They moved carefully, wordlessly feeling their way through this new territory like it was something fragile that might shatter under too much pressure.

Lena drew her knees up on the couch, turning slightly to face Kara. “I’m sorry tonight was so boring,” she said softly, breaking a comfortable silence. On the television across the room, the credits of a film they’d only half-watched were rolling. They had spent more time talking in low murmurs than paying attention to the screen. Talking – and sometimes lapsing into those gentle silences that felt oddly natural, as if just being near each other was conversation enough. “You must have better things to do on a Friday night than take pity on a workaholic who can’t even cook a proper meal.”

Kara looked up, her blue eyes bright even in the dimming light. At Lena’s words, a small smile curved her lips – the kind that always seemed to tug Lena’s heart into her throat. “If this is you apologizing for the Thai food,” Kara said with a playful arch of her brow, “don’t. It was perfect.” She shifted forward, setting her mug on the table. “And for the record, spending my evening with you is just about my favorite thing to do. Boring or not.”

A wry huff of amusement escaped Lena. She tried to fight the smile pulling at her own mouth and failed. “I’m glad to hear it.” Her eyes drifted to the mug Kara had set down – empty, save for a swirl of tea leaves. “Chamomile. Is that still helping with the jet lag?”

Kara ducked her head, a strand of gold hair falling across her cheek. “It helps me sleep, yeah,” she said. “Old habit. Though at this point I think I’m more dependent on the taste than any real effect.” She glanced back up at Lena, hesitating for a second. “What about you? You only had a few sips. Still not a tea person?”

Lena’s fingers toyed with a loose thread on the hem of her dark green sweater. She wasn’t, particularly. But truthfully, her stomach had been fluttering with a nervous energy all evening – a mix of contentment and an undercurrent of worry she couldn’t quite shake. It had made it hard to eat much, or drink tea, or do anything but steal glances at the woman beside her and marvel that she was still here. “I think I was too distracted to enjoy it,” Lena admitted. She hoped the dim light would hide the slight flush warming her cheeks. Vulnerability still felt like a foreign language on her tongue, but if she’d learned anything in the past couple of weeks, it was that Kara’s gentle sincerity made honesty feel a little safer. “Having company is… an adjustment. A welcome one, but I suppose I’m out of practice.”

There it was – a hint of what lay beneath her composed surface. The truth was, before Kara, Lena couldn’t even recall the last time she’d let someone into her home like this, into her life like this. It might have been years. Intimacy, even the quiet, domestic kind, did not come easily to her. Trust did not come easily. But Kara had been nothing if not patient, meeting her guardedness with warmth and her sarcasm with laughter. Piece by piece, Kara had slipped past her defenses, not with grand gestures but with small, steadfast kindnesses – a morning text to wish her luck on a big presentation, an umbrella wordlessly held over her in the rain, a listening ear after a grueling day.

Kara’s expression softened into something like understanding. She inched a little closer on the couch, their knees nearly touching now. “It’s an adjustment for me too,” Kara offered quietly. “I haven’t exactly… done this in a while.”

Lena tilted her head. “This?”

A faint, self-conscious laugh puffed from Kara’s lips. She gestured loosely between them. “Whatever this is. Spending time with someone I… care about. Letting it be more than surface-level. It’s new for me as well.”

It was hard to imagine that Kara – lovely, affable Kara – didn’t have a trail of close friends or old lovers somewhere. But in their late-night conversations, Kara had hinted at wounds of her own. She’d spoken a little about burnout, about leaving behind a successful journalism career in the States to write a novel in London. There were gaps in her story, unspoken sorrows between the lines – a painful breakup, perhaps, or some loss she carried behind those thoughtful eyes. Lena hadn’t pried; she sensed that, like her, Kara revealed herself in measured increments. The things they didn’t say outright hung in the air sometimes, quiet specters of their pasts. Yet every day Lena found herself wanting to know more, craving any little piece of truth Kara was willing to share.

The urge to confide something in return tugged at Lena now. Kara had opened up at least in part, and she deserved honesty back. Lena drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. “You’re not the only one who’s out of practice with… people.” She tried for a light tone, but her voice came out softer than she intended, tinged with a vulnerability that made her stomach clench. “I know I’m not the easiest person to get close to. I tend to keep others at arm’s length. It’s just simpler that way.”

Kara didn’t respond right away. Instead, she studied Lena in that gentle, penetrating way she had, as if seeing past every mask. Outside, the final edge of sun disappeared, leaving only the glow of the city lights below and the faint lamplight between them. In that hush, Kara’s hand drifted toward Lena’s on the couch cushion. She paused, giving Lena a chance to pull away. But Lena didn’t. She let Kara’s fingers slip over hers, warm and slightly calloused, a whisper of contact that sent a subtle shiver up Lena’s arm.

“I don’t mind a little challenge,” Kara said at last, a teasing lilt coloring her voice. But her thumb brushed against the side of Lena’s hand in a tender motion, belying the joke. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you let me in – even if it took a bit of persistence.”

A huff of breath that might have been a laugh or a sigh escaped Lena. She felt the corner of her mouth lift. “A bit of persistence? You basically stormed the castle gates, Kara.”

Kara’s grin flashed briefly, sheepish and bright. “Was I that obvious? Here I thought I was playing it cool.”

Lena couldn’t help it – she laughed, a quiet, genuine sound that she hardly recognized as her own at first. It surprised her how easily it came in Kara’s presence. She felt Kara’s grip on her hand tighten just a fraction in response, as if drawn by the music of it. The moment of levity melted into something gentler.

Their laughter faded, and Kara’s face grew a touch more serious. “For the record,” Kara murmured, “if there are any castle gates still standing, I’m more than willing to keep knocking.” She swallowed, and Lena saw a flicker of nerves cross her features, that earnestness that always undid her. “I… I know you need time. And that’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

The simple statement settled in the space between them, heavy with meaning. I’m not going anywhere. Lena’s immediate instinct was to meet such promises with skepticism – how many times had she heard pretty lies from people who did go somewhere, who left or betrayed her when she needed them most? But this was Kara, who had thus far been nothing but steadfast. Kara, who was still holding her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” Lena whispered, and hoped Kara could hear the layers of gratitude in those two words. Thank you for staying. Thank you for caring. Thank you for being you.

They sat like that for a while, side by side on the couch with fingers entwined, watching the city’s lights gradually outshine the sunset. Silence fell again, but it was comfortable – a soft, shared solitude. Lena’s gaze drifted over Kara’s profile: the relaxed slope of her shoulders, the hint of a smile still lingering at the edges of her lips, the distant reflection of skyscraper lights dancing in her blue eyes as she looked out the window. Lena felt a quiet awe wash over her. She wasn’t used to this – this happiness. It was delicate and unfamiliar, and part of her was almost afraid to hold it too tightly, as if it might dissolve between her fingers.

Eventually, the subtle shift of Kara’s posture signaled the night’s approaching end. Kara gave Lena’s hand one last squeeze and released it, an almost reluctant motion. “It’s getting late,” she said gently. “I should probably let you get some rest. You have that early meeting tomorrow with the board, right?”

Lena stifled the impulse to tell her to stay longer. She did have an early meeting, and Kara, as always, was considerate of her responsibilities. “Yes, unfortunately. The glamorous life of corporate oversight,” she replied with a faint smirk. But her heart sank a little at the thought of Kara leaving. Even though they’d see each other again soon – tomorrow evening, in fact, if their tentative plans held – a part of her still bristled at the separation. How easily she’d grown used to Kara’s calming presence.

Kara stood and began gathering the takeout boxes from the table, stacking them neatly. “I’ll help you tidy up before I go,” she offered.

“You don’t have to do that,” Lena protested softly, rising to her feet as well. “You’re a guest.”

Kara glanced over her shoulder with a lopsided smile. “I think we’re past the point of strict formalities, don’t you?” She carried the containers toward the kitchen, and Lena followed, unable to suppress a small smile of her own.

In the kitchen’s low light, they disposed of the containers and rinsed out their mugs. It was a quiet, domestic dance – Lena handing Kara a dish towel to dry her hands, Kara wordlessly wiping a drip of water off the counter. Every motion felt oddly synchronized, as if they’d been doing this for years instead of days. Lena felt a pang of wistfulness at that thought – a yearning for time to stretch out just like this.

But all too soon, they were done. Kara retrieved her coat from where it hung on a barstool, shrugging it on. Lena walked her to the front door, neither of them in any particular rush to cross that threshold. Kara paused at the door, turning to face Lena. They hovered there for a moment, an electric little pause.

This was still new enough that Lena wasn’t always sure of the parting protocol. A handshake was absurdly formal now, a hug too insufficient. But was a kiss presumptuous? Too eager? Two weeks ago they’d stood in this very doorway and Lena had wanted to kiss her goodnight, but uncertainty had held her back. Tonight, that quiet yearning returned, stronger and steadier.

Kara saved her from indecision. With a tender smile, she reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind Lena’s ear – a gesture Lena had come to recognize as one of Kara’s subtle signs of affection. Lena’s heartbeat fluttered. She tilted her face up in answer, and Kara leaned in, closing the distance between them.

The kiss was feather-light, a gentle meeting of lips that carried the sweetness of a promise. Lena exhaled against Kara’s mouth, her eyes drifting shut. The contact was brief – chaste, by some standards – but it sent warmth unfurling in Lena’s chest all the same. She realized she had placed her hand lightly against Kara’s side to steady herself, fingers curling unconsciously in the fabric of her coat. Reluctantly, Lena let her hand fall as they parted.

“Good night, Lena,” Kara whispered, her voice a little hushed, as if the moment warranted reverence.

“Good night,” Lena replied, just as softly. She could still taste a hint of chamomile on her lips. Her pulse hummed in her ears, matching the quiet thrill that only Kara’s closeness seemed to elicit.

Kara lingered, eyes locked with Lena’s for one more breath, then she stepped back across the threshold into the hallway beyond. Lena allowed herself to lean against the edge of the door, fingers curled around its frame, as she watched Kara move toward the elevators. Just before pressing the call button, Kara glanced back. They shared one last smile – Lena’s a bit shy, Kara’s radiating that gentle reassurance – before the elevator arrived with a soft ding. Kara gave a little wave and disappeared behind the sliding doors.

Lena closed her door slowly, the quiet click of it echoing in the foyer. For a long moment, she stood there in the stillness of her now-empty home, trying to contain the myriad feelings Kara always seemed to leave in her wake. Her skin still tingled pleasantly where Kara’s lips had been, and the space felt oddly vast without her presence filling it.

Alone, Lena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The faint reflection of herself in the foyer’s mirror caught her eye – a woman flushed softly with happiness and perhaps a touch of disbelief. She hardly recognized that expression on her own face. When was the last time I felt like this? she wondered. Leaning back against the door, Lena allowed a small, private smile. Kara would be back tomorrow; she would see her again. That thought lit a fragile spark of hope inside her.

But beneath the warmth, there was that shadow of worry. There always was, once the lights dimmed and Lena was left only with her thoughts. Tonight was no exception. As she pushed off the door and moved through the penthouse turning off lamps, her mind wandered unbidden to darker places. The last time Lena had let someone inch this close to her heart – really close – it had ended in heartbreak and betrayal. The memory of it was distant but still potent enough to make her throat tighten. And beyond personal ghosts, there was the matter of her present reality: the threats she faced in the outside world, the enemies her work seemed to be accumulating in shadows. Those dangers had burst into her life two weeks ago, shattering any illusion of safety. She had nearly lost her life that night in the garage; if Kara hadn’t—

She cut off that line of thought before it spiraled. No. She wouldn’t imagine how that scenario could have ended without Kara. It was too horrifying, and moreover, it hadn’t happened. She was safe, at least in this moment. Kara had seen to that.

Lena turned off the final lamp, plunging the living room into darkness save for the faint glow of the city beyond the windows. She wrapped her arms around herself. A chill skittered over her skin that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. Safe, for now.

Allowing herself this happiness with Kara felt like tempting fate, like inviting tragedy. Some cynical part of her waited for the other shoe to drop. Because that was how it went, wasn’t it? Everyone always left, one way or another. Everyone had secrets or ulterior motives or simply a threshold for how much of Lena’s complicated life they could handle.

Kara, with her quiet kindness and steady blue gaze, seemed different. Lena desperately wanted to believe she was. And each day that Kara remained – texting her sweet, silly little messages; showing up at Lena’s office with lunch because she suspected Lena hadn’t eaten; holding Lena’s hand through an entire slow stroll in the park last Sunday – chipped away at Lena’s defenses that much more.

Maybe, Lena dared to think as she made her way to her bedroom, maybe Kara really meant it when she said she wasn’t going anywhere. The thought both soothed and terrified her.

In the bedroom’s ensuite bathroom, Lena flipped on the light and caught her reflection again. There was a softness in her expression she wasn’t used to seeing – the lingering aftermath of Kara’s visit. Lena pressed her hands against the cool marble countertop, grounding herself. She needed to get ready for bed. It was late, and tomorrow would be a long day. With practiced motions, she removed her earrings and set them in a dish, then began to take her makeup off, wiping away the day’s composed mask to reveal the tired woman underneath.

As she ran a cloth under warm water, her phone buzzed from the dresser where she’d left it. Lena padded back into the bedroom, heart skipping with the foolish hope that it was a message from Kara.

It was. A text lit up the screen:

Kara: Made it home. Sweet dreams, Lena. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

Lena’s lips curved as she read the words. She sank down to sit on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as a surprising well of emotion surged within her. This – someone checking in to let her know they were safe, that she should sleep well – it was such a simple, caring gesture. Jack did it sometimes, and of course Sam constantly mother-henned her with texts and voicemails when they were apart. But from Kara, it felt different. It felt like a promise wrapped in warmth.

She typed back:

Lena: Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed every minute. Sweet dreams, Kara.

A reply came almost instantly, as if Kara had been waiting:

Kara: Happy to hear that. I’m already looking forward to morning.

Morning. Lena’s little spark of hope glowed brighter. She realized she was grinning stupidly at her phone and quickly composed herself, hitting the lock button and setting it aside. Enough. She’d never get any sleep if she kept replaying Kara’s smile in her mind.

Rising, Lena resumed her bedtime routine. She changed into her silk pajamas – ironically the same ones she’d been wearing on that chaotic night two weeks ago. The memory flickered through her as she buttoned the top: the adrenaline spike of the intruder alarm, Kara showing up in the nick of time, and later, Kara’s lips on hers, gentle and urgent by turns. Lena’s fingers slowed over the buttons. A flush of heat bloomed in her at the memory. That night, Kara had stopped the kiss before it could carry them both over the brink. Lena had respected her caution, even if it had stung in the moment; it proved Kara was thoughtful, not willing to take advantage of a moment of weakness.

Since then, they had kissed a handful of times – soft, sweet glances like the one they just shared. Neither had tried to push further. Lena told herself it was for the best, that moving slowly made sense given everything. And truly, it did. But she couldn’t deny that some nights, lying alone in this too-big bed, she remembered the warmth of Kara’s body against hers that night, the solid comfort of her arms when everything was falling apart. She remembered it and yearned for it, even as she told herself she was being foolish.

Shaking off the thoughts, Lena slipped between cool sheets and turned off the bedside lamp. Darkness settled in, broken by the faint skyline glow filtering through a gap in the curtains. She exhaled, trying to release the tension knotted in her shoulders. But sleep didn’t come easily. It rarely did these days. Too much waited in the quiet – anxieties she had pushed aside while Kara was here now crept back into the forefront of her mind.

Lena’s gaze drifted to the ceiling. She mentally ran through the agenda for tomorrow’s board meeting, trying a familiar tactic of focusing on work to chase away fear. It worked for a few minutes; she planned out exactly how to broach the subject of R&D budget reallocations. But inevitably, the persistent, deeper worry bled through. The letters. The threats. The danger that had breached her orderly world and made itself at home in every shadow.

Her car had been tampered with – likely an attempt on her life. The police had no definitive leads yet, at least none they’d shared with her. She had tried to act unbothered afterward, doubling down on her public schedule to show whoever was behind it that she wouldn’t be intimidated. But inside, she was deeply shaken. She found herself looking over her shoulder now, heart jolting at unexpected noises. It was infuriating to feel that way – to feel afraid when she had spent so long cultivating control.

Tonight had been the first evening in a long while she hadn’t jumped at every stray sound or compulsively checked the locks. Kara’s presence had seen to that, soothing her frayed nerves like balm on a wound. With Kara here, she felt… safe. Safer than she could logically explain. She trusted Kara – perhaps more than she should, a cautious voice in her head warned. But it was the truth: when Kara was near, Lena’s guard lowered in a way it rarely ever did.

And now Kara was gone for the night, and the guards were creeping back up. Lena turned onto her side, punching her pillow lightly in frustration. She hated this feeling – this creeping unease that someone unseen, someone malicious, was always lurking at the edges of her life. Threatening letters and sabotage under cover of darkness… it felt like a page torn from some spy novel, not her reality. She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, if it weren’t for the fact that it was real.

In the stillness, a faint thud sounded from somewhere overhead. Lena froze, her breath catching. The roof? It was probably just a settling noise or maybe a bird, she told herself. Or the building’s heating system kicking on. She clenched her jaw and shut her eyes. This was exactly what she refused to be reduced to – jumping at imagined noises in the night. She would not let whoever was targeting her steal her peace of mind entirely.

Easier said than done, a wry internal voice noted. Lena turned onto her other side, willing herself to calm down. She tried an old grounding exercise: naming things in the dark. The cool pillow under my cheek. The distant hum of traffic ten stories below. The taste of chamomile still on my tongue. Each detail tethered her, bit by bit, back to the present. Kara’s last text echoed gently in her memory: Sweet dreams.

Eventually, against all odds, Lena drifted into a light, restless sleep as the city moved silently through the night.

Kara locked her car outside her flat and was just pocketing her keys when her secure phone vibrated in her coat pocket. It was nearly midnight, and she’d been replaying the night’s precious moments in her mind – the sound of Lena’s laugh, the feel of her lips at the door – when reality yanked her harshly back. She pulled out the phone, heartbeat quickening. The Caller ID showed a code name: Brainy.

Kara answered immediately, her voice low and alert. “Danvers.”

“Apologies for the late hour,” came Brainy’s modulated tone, brisk with purpose, “but we have activity near Lena’s residence. Drone signature detected – likely surveillance. It’s hovering near the penthouse level.”

Kara’s stomach dropped, a hot spike of adrenaline dissolving any trace of drowsiness. She had been home for all of fifteen minutes. Of course the enemy wouldn’t grant them even one peaceful night. “Are you sure it’s not one of ours?” she asked tersely, already striding back toward her car.

“Negative. Not DEO issue. Thermal imaging indicates a small quadcopter drone, commercial build with likely custom modifications. It appeared three minutes ago.” A pause. “It could be searching for vantage or wireless intercepts. Either way—”

“I’m on it,” Kara interjected, yanking her car door open and sliding back into the driver’s seat. She didn’t bother to fully buckle in before turning the ignition. “Keep eyes on it. Feed me any updates.”

“Copy that. Be careful,” Brainy added.

Kara ended the call and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. Her heart hammered in her chest, but her mind was icily focused as she gunned the engine. The tires screeched softly on the damp street as she swung the car around, heading straight back toward Lena’s neighborhood. Two weeks had passed since the garage incident, but the threat was clearly far from over. If anything, it was escalating from brute force to cunning surveillance – and that sent a new chill through Kara.

Her thoughts raced ahead of her as she navigated the quiet London streets. Who was behind this? Someone with resources and boldness enough to attempt sabotage and now covert spying. Oil industry goons, eco-terrorists opposed to Lena’s work, an old Luthor enemy – any were possible. Whoever it was, they were closing in, and Kara was damned if she’d let them hurt Lena.

She killed the headlights as she neared Lena’s block, the same routine she’d practiced two weeks ago. It was disturbingly familiar: the dark facade of Lena’s building looming, the hush of after-midnight enveloping the street. Kara parked a discreet distance away, behind a maintenance van, and stepped out into the crisp night. A thin fog clung to the pavement, diffusing the glow of street lamps. High above, she could just make out the silhouette of Lena’s penthouse terrace against the cloudy sky.

Her earpiece crackled on – Brainy’s voice directly in her ear now. “Visual confirmed. Drone is circling the rooftop garden area. Possibly scanning windows or testing for security blind spots. I’m attempting to jam its signal, but the operator may notice. Manual retrieval might be preferable if possible.”

“Roger that,” Kara whispered, already moving. She skirted the building’s side, staying out of the cone of light cast by the lobby entrance. The concierge would be at his desk inside, but at this hour he likely wouldn’t notice a fleeting shadow slip past the side service door. Kara had long since obtained a copy of the service key – courtesy of a subtle DEO intervention with the building’s maintenance company. Now she quietly let herself into the side stairwell.

Her boots took the steps two at a time. Ten floors to climb – she didn’t mind. The exertion was welcome, channeling her adrenaline. At floor 10, a heavy door marked “Roof Access – Authorized Personnel Only” barred her way. The electronic lock was engaged, a glowing red light. Kara knelt and reached into her pocket for a small device – a universal bypass chip courtesy of Brainy’s bag of tricks. She pressed it to the lock panel and held her breath. A green light flashed; the mechanism clicked open.

Kara eased the door ajar. A gust of chilly night air greeted her, carrying with it the faint, unmistakable whir of rotor blades. The drone. She slipped out onto the rooftop, keeping low behind a large metal vent. The building’s roof was spacious – half utilitarian gravel strewn with HVAC units and satellite dishes, half given over to the private terrace adjoining Lena’s penthouse. Low ornamental shrubs in planters and a few modern patio chairs furnished the terrace side, separated from the rest of the roof by a short partition wall.

Her eyes scanned the darkness, and then she saw it: a small dark quadcopter hovering near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lena’s penthouse. It had its lights off – a stealthed approach – but moonlight glinted off its rotors as it bobbed gently in the air. It was maybe twenty feet from her, across the partition, slightly higher as it maneuvered near the top of the window frame.

For a beat, Kara’s chest constricted at the sight of that window. Through a gap in the curtains, she could see the faint glow of Lena’s bedroom lamp. Was Lena still awake? The thought of her just on the other side of that glass, unaware of the mechanical spy buzzing outside, sent Kara’s protective fury into overdrive.

She moved swiftly, crouching behind the partition wall. The drone’s electric whine masked the soft crunch of gravel under her knee as she positioned herself. She needed to bring it down without it crashing through the window or making enough noise to alert Lena. A direct grab might work – but if she missed, the drone might dart away or slam into the glass.

Brainy’s voice murmured in her ear, “Attempting to seize control of its guidance… partial success. I can slow its movement for a few seconds if you want to make a move.”

Kara’s pulse thrummed. “Do it. On my mark… three, two, one… now.”

She sprung from cover like a cat pouncing. In those same seconds, the drone’s unpredictable bobbing stilled almost as if stunned – Brainy’s remote hack taking hold briefly. Kara lunged, arms outstretched. Her fingers closed around cold metal. For a split second, the rotors whirred angrily against her grip, one blade biting into the sleeve of her coat. Kara bit back a curse as pain sliced across the back of her forearm – the rotor had nicked skin. But she held tight, twisting the drone hard.

With a sharp wrench, she yanked it away from the window and slammed it down onto the terrace floor, pinning it beneath her forearm before it could recover. The rotors met the resistance of solid ground and emitted a shrill, straining sound before grinding to a halt. One propeller snapped with a brittle crack.

The drone’s lights flickered in protest – a tiny red LED flashed rapidly, as if sending an SOS to its operator. Kara couldn’t allow that. She scrambled to pull the small battery connector free. It popped loose with a spark, and the LED went dark. The only sound now was Kara’s own heavy breathing and the distant rush of blood in her ears.

She had it. The surveillance feed would have cut out the second she severed power; whoever was on the other end would be left with nothing but static and questions. Kara allowed herself a grim, triumphant breath.

“Drone disabled,” she whispered into her comm.

“Well done,” Brainy replied softly. “Retrieval team can be on site in fifteen.”

Kara shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. “Negative. That’s too long – risk of someone noticing. I’ll take it with me and hand it off later.” The last thing they needed was DEO agents clambering around Lena’s building tonight, raising suspicion.

She carefully lifted the now-lifeless drone into her hands. It was about the size of a shoebox, lightweight carbon fiber arms and a high-end camera attachment gimbal – the kind of tech a hobbyist or even a corporate spy might use. She couldn’t inspect it here in the dark, but she noted a lack of obvious markings. Whoever built or bought it had likely scrubbed serial numbers. Still, Brainy’s lab could extract something from it, she hoped.

As she turned to retreat, Kara’s boot nudged a fragment of broken rotor, sending it skittering across the terrace tile. The clink of plastic sounded louder than it was in the midnight quiet. Kara froze, heart lurching. She instinctively glanced toward Lena’s bedroom window.

The curtains were drawn, only a thin strip of light at the bottom. No movement inside. Maybe Lena was asleep, or maybe the noise hadn’t reached her at all. Or if it had, perhaps she’d dismiss it as a settling building or the wind. Kara prayed for that luck.

Pressing the disabled drone against her chest, Kara retreated from the terrace as silently as she’d come. Each second she lingered here uninvited felt like a risk – not just of Lena discovering her, but of her own resolve wavering. She hated that this was the closest she could come to watching over Lena openly: crawling on her roof in secret, snatching spying machines out of the sky. It was necessary deceit, she reminded herself. Lena wanted to live her life on her own terms, free of bodyguards or security details. If she knew Kara was playing guardian angel every other night, her pride might take it poorly. And worse, it would raise questions Kara wasn’t ready to answer.

As she slipped back through the roof access door and down into the stairwell, Kara allowed herself a moment to breathe. Her arm throbbed where the rotor had cut her – a shallow slice, warm with oozing blood. She could tend to it later. What mattered was that the drone was down and Lena was safe, still sleeping peacefully in her bed, oblivious to the danger that had been inches away.

On the drive back, Kara kept the drone on the passenger seat, one hand resting on it as if it were a captured beast that might spring back to life. Her mind was already spinning ahead: She would deliver it to DEO tech specialists first thing in the morning under the guise of running an errand. Brainy would dissect its memory, trace its origin if possible. Every scrap of intel was crucial now – because this was no longer just about anonymous letters or vague threats. The enemy was actively probing Lena’s defenses, and that meant they were gearing up for something worse.

Anger flared hot under Kara’s skin at the thought. She pictured Lena smiling at her over dinner just hours ago, unguarded and laughing, completely unaware that even then, someone might have been planning to violate her privacy, invade her sanctuary. Kara’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. She had chosen this mission to protect Lena from exactly this kind of fear and violation. And damned if some coward with a remote control was going to get past her.

As she pulled up to her flat once more, Kara exhaled a long breath, trying to release the tension coiled in her muscles. The night was quiet again, the threat momentarily abated. Lena would never know that anything had been amiss. That was good – that was right. Kara would shoulder that knowledge so Lena could keep feeling safe, at least for one more night.

Inside her apartment, Kara wasted no time. She stashed the captured drone in a locked case at the back of her closet, hiding it beneath a pile of draft manuscripts and notebooks to maintain her writerly facade. Tomorrow, she’d pass it off to the DEO van that delivered her “supplies.” For now, she carefully peeled off her coat and examined the tear in the sleeve and the shallow cut beneath. A few drops of blood had dried into a thin line on her skin. Kara cleaned it quickly at her kitchen sink, the sting a trivial penance for keeping Lena safe.

Once the wound was bandaged and her coat hung away (with a mental note to patch that tear before Lena saw it), Kara finally allowed herself to collapse onto her small sofa. The apartment was dark except for a single lamp she’d left on. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Only then did she let the emotional weight of the night settle on her.

Another threat thwarted, at least for now – but how many more to come? Kara’s mind conjured the image of Lena’s face if she ever learned the depth of these dangers. Would she be grateful to know? Or furious that she’d been kept in the dark? Lena was brave, but she valued honesty almost above all else. Kara dreaded the day Lena might find out about the lies entwined in her protection.

She rubbed a hand over her face, pushing away the thought. That day was not today. Today – tonight – she’d succeeded. That had to be enough.

On the coffee table, her phone buzzed gently, drawing her out of her brooding. It was a message from Alex: just a single line asking for an update. Word had likely reached DEO command about the drone interception.

Kara typed back a quick summary with one hand:
Drone neutralized. No disturbance to the asset. Will send device for analysis ASAP.

She stared at the word “asset” for a second and felt a twist of distaste. Lena was so much more than that cold term suggested. Biting her lip, she added another sentence before hitting send:
Lena is safe.

That done, Kara set the phone aside. Safe. The word gave her a brief flicker of comfort. She pictured Lena asleep, probably unaware of the tiny scare earlier. Hopefully dreaming something peaceful, perhaps even about a quiet dinner and a movie with a certain novelist. Kara smiled faintly at the thought.

Her own exhaustion finally caught up to her in a wave. The adrenaline of the chase ebbed, leaving heaviness in its wake. Kara didn’t bother going to her bed; she simply pulled a throw blanket from the back of the couch over herself and let her eyes fall shut. She’d get only a few hours of rest at most, but she could manage.

As she drifted off, one of her last thoughts was the memory of Lena’s voice from earlier in the night, soft and sincere: Thank you. Lena had thanked her for being there. If only she knew just how far Kara would go, how many dark roofs Kara would scale and threats she’d snuff out, just to keep that gratitude from ever turning to grief.

Kara’s hand curled loosely against her chest, and she made herself a quiet promise in the dark: No matter the cost, Lena will remain safe and unaware of the monsters at her door. That was the burden Kara would carry alone, for as long as she possibly could.

Lena adjusted the slim metal band of her smartwatch, squinting against the pale fluorescent lighting of her private lab. The rest of L-Corp’s R&D floor had gone dark and silent by this late hour; only her personal workspace remained illuminated, cluttered with prototypes and scribbled design schematics. A digital clock on the wall read 10:47 PM. Another long day nearly at its end.

She should have gone home hours ago – Kara had texted to gently scold her around 8 for still being at the office, and Lena had promised she was wrapping up “soon.” But “soon” had a way of stretching on when she was elbows-deep in a project, and truthfully, burying herself in work felt better than sitting alone in her penthouse with her worries. At least here, amidst circuits and code, she felt in control.

Lena sighed and leaned back from the microscope where she’d been examining a microchip. The hush of the empty lab pressed in, broken only by the soft hum of an air filter and the occasional distant creak of the building settling. She saved her progress on the analysis program and powered down her computer. It was time to call it a night. She had already stayed later than her security detail – not that she really had one; true to form, she’d dismissed her bodyguard after the board meeting earlier, insisting she’d be fine. The man had protested but ultimately relented – he knew how stubborn CEO Luthor could be. Besides, he was more a formality these days. After the car incident, she’d allowed an uptick in visible security around her for a week to appease her board of directors, but she’d quietly scaled it back since. She refused to live caged by fear.

Yet as she began tidying up her workspace, Lena felt an uneasy prickle at the back of her neck. It was that now-familiar sensation that someone unseen was watching. She paused, scanning the lab’s shadows. Of course, no one was there; the biometric locks on this lab only granted entry to her and a handful of top scientists, all of whom had gone home.

Stop jumping at ghosts, she chided herself, echoing what she’d told herself a hundred times in recent days. But the prickle remained.

Her hand stilled over a stack of research notes. Something was… off. It was like an instinct honed in childhood, when she’d lived under the same roof as a monster who pretended to be family. She had learned to trust her gut when something was wrong.

Slowly, Lena swept her gaze around once more. The lab looked ordinary: stainless steel benches, locked cabinets of equipment, the analytical instruments quietly idling. Nothing obvious was amiss. And yet—

Her eyes caught on a faint gleam beneath one of the overhead shelves above her workstation. A tiny reflection, just a pinprick of something metallic hidden in shadow. Lena frowned. That shelf held a tangle of cables and spare parts; she couldn’t recall leaving anything shiny at that exact spot.

Heart thumping faster now, Lena reached for a stool and dragged it over. Climbing up carefully in her heels, she ran her fingers along the underside of the shelf. At first she felt only cool metal surface. Then – there. Her fingertips brushed something small and rectangular adhered to the steel.

Lena’s breath hitched. She steadied herself with one hand on the shelf and gently pried at the object with the other. It resisted for a second, as if glued or magnetically clamped, but then popped free. She hopped down from the stool, her pulse roaring in her ears.

Under the lab’s bright light, she examined the item in her palm. It was a tiny device, about the size of a matchbox, matte black. An LED indicator light on one side – currently dark. A thin antenna coil. And a magnet on the back. She didn’t need an engineering degree (though she had several) to identify what it was. A listening device. A bug.

For a moment, Lena simply stared at it, a strange calm overtaking her even as her heart continued to slam against her ribs. It was the calm of shock, of the mind locking down emotion to process sheer fact. Someone had planted a bug in her lab. In the heart of her company’s research wing. Likely weeks ago, maybe even months – who knew? All this time, as she and her team worked on sensitive projects, someone could have been eavesdropping, siphoning off secrets… Or perhaps listening for something else entirely.

The dam of calm broke; a surge of anger and fear crashed through Lena’s veins. How dare they? How dare someone violate her space like this! Her hands trembled slightly as she tightened her grip on the device. If this was corporate espionage, it was sophisticated and bold. If it was related to the threats against her life… that thought made her stomach churn. Had the person sending her those vile messages infiltrated her company? Her mind immediately conjured worst-case scenarios: an inside man on her staff, a breach in security. It could be anyone – a lab tech, a janitor bribed to plant it, even a member of her inner circle?

That last possibility hit hardest. She thought of her small circle of trusted colleagues – people she’d vetted and known for years. Could she truly trust them? The old voice of doubt was quick to hiss: You can’t trust anyone.

Lena drew a shaky breath, fighting the rising panic. No, she refused to spiral into paranoia. She needed a clear head now. Evidence, plans – she was good at those. She had the evidence pinched right between her fingers. Now she needed a plan.

Her first impulse was to call security, have the building swept from top to bottom. But something held her back. If there was indeed a mole or leak internally, raising an alarm could tip them off. The person behind this bug would scurry into hiding, covering their tracks. She’d lose the chance to catch them. And beyond that, in the darkest corner of her mind, lay a more personal reluctance: I can’t face this alone. Not tonight. The shock of finding this – on top of the constant stress she’d been under – had robbed her of the last reserves of strength she’d been clinging to all day.

Almost without conscious thought, Lena found herself reaching for her phone. The device in her hand felt like a tainted thing; she set it down gingerly on the nearest counter, as if it might burn. With her now-free hand, she unlocked her phone and navigated to her favorites contacts. Her thumb hovered for a split second over Sam’s name – but then moved up and pressed Kara’s.

The call rang only once before Kara picked up.

“Lena?” Kara’s voice was alert despite the late hour, concern threading through the single spoken word. She must have seen the caller ID and known something was wrong; Lena almost never called out of the blue, especially not so late.

Lena swallowed, suddenly aware of the dryness in her throat. She tried to summon her usual collected tone and failed; when she spoke, her voice was thin and tight. “Kara… I’m sorry to call so late. I—” She glanced at the bug on the counter, an almost disbelieving glance. “I need your help. Something’s happened.”

She heard rustling on Kara’s end, as if Kara had shot upright from lying down. “What is it? Are you okay?”

The genuine worry in those simple questions nearly unraveled Lena. She pressed her free hand flat on the cool countertop, grounding herself. “I’m… physically fine. But I found something at work. A device. I think someone’s been spying on me – on L-Corp.” The words tumbled out, each making the situation more real. “In my private lab. I don’t know how long it’s been there.”

A brief silence, save for the pounding of Lena’s heart. When Kara responded, her tone was steady, reassuring. “Okay. Okay, first – take a deep breath.”

Lena realized she was nearly panting and forced herself to inhale slowly. The air felt sharp in her lungs.

“Where are you now?” Kara asked calmly.

“In my lab. Everyone else is gone. I… I didn’t know what to do.” Admitting that cost Lena a measure of pride, but it was true. Her mind, usually so incisive, was a jumble of indignation and alarm.

“You did the right thing calling me,” Kara said immediately, leaving no room for Lena to doubt it. “Listen, grab the device if you can do it safely. And maybe any case or packaging it was attached with – we might need that. Then get out of there. Go home. I’ll meet you at your place as soon as I can. Alright?”

Lena glanced at the bug again, then around the lab as if expecting more hidden horrors in every corner. “Al—alright,” she said. Home. Yes, home sounded good, though at the moment even home felt violated in her imagination. Still, it was better than staying here.

“I’m heading to you now,” Kara added. Lena could hear jingling, perhaps Kara grabbing her keys. “Text me when you’re home safe. And Lena… try not to worry. We’ll figure this out together.”

Together. The word eased a fraction of the weight on Lena’s chest. “Thank you,” she managed, voice hushed with relief. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call, Lena forced herself into motion. She fetched an antistatic evidence bag from a drawer – a leftover from some lab sample kit – and slipped the bugging device inside using tweezers, careful not to touch it more than necessary. Then she collected her laptop and notes, her brain automatically securing what she could of her work as if the walls themselves had eyes.

Her legs felt unsteady as she left the lab, swiping her ID to lock it behind her. The halls of L-Corp were deserted, lights on night-cycle dim. Every shadow loomed larger than usual. Lena walked briskly, her heels clicking like anxious Morse code on marble floors. In the elevator down to the parking garage, she caught sight of herself in the mirrored wall: pale face, eyes wide and glittering with anger she hadn’t let herself fully feel yet. Fear she could handle; anger, she could channel. Whoever did this would face her wrath soon enough.

Her driver had gone off duty at nine, so Lena’s car was one of only a few left in the executive section. She approached it carefully, a leftover paranoia from the sabotage incident. The sleek black sedan’s undercarriage glinted under the fluorescent garage lights, and she couldn’t help but crouch briefly to glance beneath, checking for any tampering. Nothing obvious caught her eye. Still, her nerves remained taut as she got in and started the engine.

The drive home was a blur. Lena’s thoughts raced faster than her car, cycling through scenarios: she needed to have the entire lab swept, the whole building scanned for devices. If this was a targeted campaign against her, then likely her home, her phone, everything could be compromised. The thought made her skin crawl. Perhaps she should have called the police… but what would she even tell them at this point? She felt a sudden stab of isolation. This was bigger than a single hidden bug – it indicated a concerted effort to invade every part of her life.

But she wasn’t alone. Kara was coming. The relief that thought brought was disproportionate, perhaps, but immense. In truth, Kara was the only person she wanted to see right now. Not her security chief, not the board members who would certainly panic and convene committees over this – just Kara, with her steady presence and clear eyes and the uncanny ability to make Lena feel like the ground wasn’t crumbling beneath her feet.

By the time Lena’s car pulled into the private garage of her apartment building, she was gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were bloodless. She forced herself to release it and take another deep breath. Kara’s advice on the phone rang in her ears: try not to worry. Easier said than done, but she could manage her composure at least externally.

She rode the elevator up to the penthouse, arms wrapped tightly around her laptop and the small evidence bag containing the bug. When the doors opened into her foyer, she nearly sagged with relief at the sight of the familiar space. Home. She locked the door behind her and double-checked it. Then, without even removing her coat, she texted Kara: Home. Door unlocked for you. She hesitated, then added: Hurry, please. It felt like a needless plea – she knew Kara was likely breaking land-speed records to get here – but she sent it anyway, needing that direct line of communication to stay open, to feel less alone.

Less than fifteen minutes later, a soft knock sounded at the front door. Lena all but rushed to open it, heart thudding with anticipation. Kara stood there, slightly out of breath, worry etched on her face. She was still in jeans and a casual sweater, thrown under her coat – clearly she’d come running without delay.

As soon as the door shut behind Kara, Lena found herself moving forward, closing the distance and wrapping her arms around Kara in a fierce, impulsive hug. It surprised them both; Lena wasn’t given to such sudden displays, but fear and relief were crashing through her in equal measure. Kara reacted immediately, though, folding her arms around Lena’s back and holding her tight.

“It’s okay,” Kara murmured against her hair. “I’m here. You’re alright.”

Lena pressed her face into the crook of Kara’s shoulder, eyes burning. She hadn’t realized until that moment how desperately she’d needed the physical reassurance of another human being. Of Kara. After a long beat, she drew back, embarrassed by her own urgency. “Sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Kara cut in gently, her hands lingering at Lena’s arms as if reluctant to lose contact. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Lena managed a shaky nod and stepped aside. “Come in. I… thank you for coming so quickly.”

Kara slipped off her coat and hung it, never taking her eyes off Lena for long. “Of course. Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

They moved to the living area. Lena’s laptop and the small bagged device now sat on her coffee table where she’d tossed them upon arriving. Kara eyed the bag containing the bug. They both sat down on the couch, angling toward each other. Lena realized her hands were fiddling anxiously with the hem of her blazer; she shrugged the blazer off, suddenly too warm and constrained in it. Underneath, her silk blouse was slightly rumpled from the day’s trials.

“I was cleaning up my lab,” Lena began, voice steadier now in Kara’s presence. “And I just… felt something was off. I spotted a glint under a shelf and found that.” She pointed at the evidence bag. “It’s a bug. Audio, probably, maybe more. Attached with a magnet.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Someone planted it right under my nose.”

Kara listened intently, her expression grave. She leaned forward and picked up the evidence bag carefully. Through the plastic, she examined the device. “Did you tell anyone else? Security? The police?”

“No,” Lena admitted. “Not yet. I wanted to – but I wasn’t sure who I could trust.” The words tasted bitter. She hated that this was the reality: suspicion cast over her own company. “If it’s corporate espionage, it could be an inside job. If it’s related to…” She trailed off, but Kara seemed to understand.

“The threats,” Kara finished softly. She knew about the letters and emails now; Lena had confided those to her a few days ago in a rare moment of openness. At the time, Kara had reacted with appropriate shock and concern, urging her to be careful. Lena had downplayed the danger then, not wanting to seem afraid. Now that seemed almost foolish.

“Yes,” Lena said quietly. “If it’s related to that, then this is far more coordinated than I imagined. And maybe someone on the inside is colluding, or our security has been compromised.” She raked a hand through her dark hair, her cool façade cracking to reveal the frustration beneath. “It’s infuriating. L-Corp is supposed to be impenetrable. We have top-of-the-line security. How did this get past us?”

“We’ll figure that out,” Kara assured, setting the bag back down. Lena noticed Kara’s fingers lingered a moment, as if she had an urge to do something with the device. “For tonight, the important thing is you’re safe and we have the bug. Did you notice any others around?”

“No, but I didn’t exactly do a thorough sweep,” Lena said, shame creeping into her voice. “Perhaps I should now, here at home.” She started to rise, a sudden fear sparking that her home might be just as compromised. But Kara gently caught her hand.

“Hey, breathe,” Kara said, guiding her back to sit. “I’ll help you check, but let’s think rationally for a minute. Whoever placed that bug wouldn’t have known you’d discover it tonight. It was well hidden. So I doubt they’ve made any sudden move like bugging your home between then and now, especially since you came straight here. That said…” She glanced around the penthouse, her brow furrowing in focus. “It’s not a bad idea to check the common spots, just for peace of mind.”

Lena nodded, her pulse still fluttering. Kara’s logic was sound, but she wouldn’t feel truly calm until they ensured no more nasty surprises lurked nearby. “Okay.”

Quietly, systematically, they made a circuit of the main living areas. Kara took out her phone and, at Lena’s questioning look, gave a small smile. “Just using the flashlight,” she explained, clicking it on. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

They checked under tables, behind vases and bookshelves, even inside light fixtures for any telltale glint of foreign devices. Kara dragged a chair under a ceiling vent to peek inside. Lena peered behind the television and stereo equipment. It felt surreal, searching her own home for signs of intrusion. Her heart thumped erratically every time she thought she saw something, only for it to be a benign screw or speck of dust.

Finding nothing in the living room or kitchen, they moved into Lena’s home office briefly – also clear to casual inspection. Kara opened a small utility closet in the hall, rummaging through coats and stored luggage. At one point, she winced and sucked in a sharp breath, withdrawing her hand from behind a suitcase.

Lena turned, alarmed. “What is it?”

Kara grimaced and held up her hand. Even in the low light, Lena could see a fresh cut on the back of Kara’s forearm, a few inches long but shallow, as if scratched by something sharp. It was clean and already covered by a makeshift bandage, but their impromptu search must have jostled it. A tiny stain of red seeped through the white gauze.

Lena stepped closer in concern. “You’re hurt. How did—”

Kara swiftly pulled her sleeve down over it. “It’s nothing,” she said lightly. “Just caught a sharp edge, probably the closet latch. I’m a bit clumsy tonight.”

Her casual tone didn’t entirely convince Lena, but Kara had already moved on, closing the closet door. Lena let it go for now, filing away a note to tend to that wound later. Kara cared so much for her well-being; the least Lena could do was return the favor in kind.

At last, they circled back to the main living area. If any surveillance devices were present in the penthouse, they hadn’t found them. Lena felt a mix of relief and lingering unease—if her home was clean, good, but that meant the breach at L-Corp was the glaring outlier that needed addressing come morning.

They settled onto the couch again. The adrenaline that had propelled Lena through the search was ebbing, leaving her drained. She realized her hands were trembling slightly and clasped them in her lap to hide it. Kara noticed anyway. She always noticed.

Without a word, Kara reached over and covered Lena’s interlaced hands with her own. Warmth radiated from that simple touch. Lena closed her eyes briefly, gathering strength. When she opened them, Kara’s gaze was on her—steady, compassionate, and brimming with understanding.

“This is all so…” Lena struggled to articulate the storm of emotions inside her. “Violating,” she finally said, voice low but vehement. “My lab, my work—it’s like my own mind isn’t private anymore. And I hate that I feel—” She bit down on the words, refusing to say scared.

“Violated is the right word,” Kara agreed softly. “Anyone would feel the same. You have every right to be angry and unsettled.”

Lena’s throat tightened. “I keep thinking, what if there are more I didn’t find? What if they heard—” She stopped herself again. What if whoever planted that bug had listened to every private conversation she had in that lab? She often worked alone, yes, but sometimes she met with research heads there, discussing confidential plans. What if they were listening at this very moment through some other unseen eye? The thought was too unnerving.

Kara squeezed her hands. “We’ll do a thorough sweep with professionals, first thing tomorrow. We’ll find out who did this. But tonight… maybe you should rest.”

Rest. The word seemed foreign. Lena almost laughed – how was she supposed to sleep after this? She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. My mind is racing. There’s so much to do… and I feel like if I close my eyes, I’ll just see—” She paused, not wanting to reveal the depth of her anxiety.

Kara released one of Lena’s hands and lifted her own to gently cup Lena’s cheek. The gesture was tender, the pad of Kara’s thumb stroking once just below Lena’s cheekbone. It grounded Lena, drawing her full attention. “You’re not alone,” Kara said, a quiet fervor in her voice. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through tonight, one minute at a time if we have to.”

Lena’s vision blurred unexpectedly. She realized with some alarm that she was on the verge of tears. She hadn’t cried in front of another person in… she couldn’t even remember how long. Crying was something done in solitude, behind locked doors. But here she was, eyes wet and lower lip trembling, with Kara’s unwavering gaze on her.

She turned her face slightly into Kara’s palm, a tiny movement akin to leaning into an embrace. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as kind as you,” she whispered, voice unsteady.

Kara’s eyes widened a fraction, as if caught off guard by the statement. “Lena, you don’t have to deserve basic human compassion,” she replied, a gentle insistence in her tone. “This… me being here… it’s not some favor you owe me for. I want to be here. With you.”

The earnestness of that declaration eased something in Lena’s chest, allowing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She managed a small, fragile smile. “Just so you know, I don’t accept help easily. Or… or admit when I need it.”

“I think I’ve picked up on that,” Kara said, and her lips curved too—a soft echo of Lena’s smile. “But everyone needs help sometimes. Even Lena Luthor.”

Especially Lena Luthor, she almost heard implied. “I suppose so,” Lena murmured. Her emotions had settled into a low simmer now: the fear, the anger, all tempered by exhaustion and the solace of Kara’s presence. “Thank you,” she added, and she meant not just for tonight, but for every gentle insistence Kara had made to be by her side lately.

Kara brushed a stray tear off Lena’s cheek with her thumb. “Always.”

They lingered like that for a moment—Kara’s hand warm against Lena’s cheek, Lena’s hand still held in Kara’s other. There was a closeness in the air that transcended the chaos of the evening. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, a sense of intimacy had wrapped around them tightly.

At length, Kara lowered her hand and glanced toward the hallway that led to Lena’s bedroom. “Why don’t you change and try to lay down for a bit?” she suggested softly. “Even if you can’t sleep, you should at least rest. I’ll stay right here on the couch, keep watch.”

It was the pragmatic plan, and perhaps what they both expected. Kara had slept on that couch once before, after all. But at her words, an immediate disquiet settled in Lena’s gut. The thought of walking into her dark bedroom alone, of lying in the silence with only her racing thoughts, made her stomach clench. She knew exactly how that would go: she’d stare at the ceiling for hours, mind churning every worst-case scenario, jumping at any creak. Alone, the night would stretch endless and merciless. She didn’t want to be alone.

Before she could second-guess the impulse, Lena spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Will you… stay with me?”

Kara looked at her quizzically, not quite catching her meaning. “I’ll be right here, I promise. I’m not leaving.”

Lena shook her head and clarified, her cheeks heating. “No, I mean… with me. In the bedroom.” She rushed on, compelled to explain lest Kara think she was suggesting something else entirely. “I just— I don’t think I can fall asleep by myself. Not after a day like this. But if you were nearby… I might actually rest.” She trailed off, embarrassed by her own vulnerability.

Kara’s face softened in understanding. For a moment, she looked almost as if she might protest – perhaps thinking of propriety or boundaries – but then that fell away and she gave a small nod. “If that’s what you need, of course.”

Relief and nervousness flooded Lena in equal measure. “Only if you’re comfortable,” she added hastily. “I don’t want to presume—”

“Lena.” Kara’s tone was gentle but firm. “I told you, I’m here for you. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I… honestly, I’d prefer to be where I can hear if you need anything anyway.”

That settled it. They shared a tentative smile, a silent agreement.

Lena rose from the couch, suddenly aware of the fatigue weighing down her limbs. The adrenaline was long gone, leaving her achy and bone-tired. Kara stood as well, hesitating as if unsure what came next. Lena realized Kara probably hadn’t planned for an overnight stay beyond perhaps dozing on the couch; she likely had no change of clothes.

“You can borrow something to sleep in, if you want,” Lena offered. The domestic familiarity of that statement was not lost on her; it felt strangely intimate in itself.

“Thank you,” Kara accepted after a beat, the hint of a shy smile on her lips. Perhaps she, too, felt the weight of what this meant – sharing a bed, even platonically, was a step into new territory for them.

In the bedroom, Lena flicked on a soft lamp beside the bed, casting a warm glow on the dark sheets and plush pillows. She moved to her dresser and pulled out a spare pair of pajamas – cotton drawstring pants and a long-sleeved tee – simple and comfortable. She handed them to Kara, who took them with a murmured thanks, then excused herself to the bathroom to change and presumably give Lena privacy to do the same.

Left alone in her bedroom, Lena sat on the edge of the mattress and exhaled slowly. The events of the day swirled in her head. She pressed her palms against her eyes, willing the tension to ebb. Tonight had been overwhelming in so many ways – the discovery of the bug, the vulnerability of asking Kara for help, and now… this quiet moment about to be shared. Part of her still couldn’t quite believe she’d asked Kara to sleep beside her. Even more, she couldn’t believe how natural it felt to have Kara agree.

She changed into her own sleepwear – a soft grey camisole and matching pajama bottoms – and draped a light robe over her shoulders. By the time Kara emerged from the bathroom, wearing Lena’s spare pajamas (a bit loose on her taller frame but it only made her look more endearing), Lena had turned down the bedding and set her anxiety aside as best as she could.

Kara hovered near the doorway, clearly unsure of the protocol. Lena felt a fondness welling up at that – how they were both treading new ground here, careful but willing. She crossed the room and took Kara’s hand gently, guiding her toward the bed.

They climbed in on opposite sides. The mattress dipped under their weight. For a few awkward seconds, they both lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling as if uncertain what to do with their limbs. The silence hummed, not quite uncomfortable but thick with unspoken things.

Eventually, Lena shifted onto her side to face Kara. In the low lamplight, Kara did the same, turning toward Lena on the pillow. They were inches apart now, sharing the same space of hushed breath and warmth. Lena could see the faint freckles on Kara’s nose, the worry creases that still lingered on her brow.

“Hi,” Kara whispered, a half-smile tugging at her lips as their eyes met in the near dark.

A quiet huff of amusement escaped Lena – a soft ha that in another time might have been a real laugh. “Hi,” she whispered back. This close, it was easy to forget the turmoil of the day for just a moment.

They lay there, simply taking each other in. Lena felt a tremor run through her – the aftereffects of adrenaline, perhaps, or the dawning realization of just how intimate a position this was. She could reach out and touch Kara’s face if she wanted, twine her fingers with Kara’s under the sheets. The awareness sent a delicate shiver across her skin.

Kara noticed; concern flickered over her features. “Are you cold?”

“No,” Lena assured quickly. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” Kara teased lightly, clearly aiming to make her smile.

It worked – Lena’s lips curved faintly. Then her expression sobered as the weight of her earlier thoughts pressed on her again. There was something she needed to say, or maybe just something she needed to confront out loud, here in the safety of darkness with only Kara to hear.

“Kara?” she began, voice barely audible over the hush.

“Mm?”

“I need to tell you something.” Lena’s heart drummed as she readied herself. “I know I’ve said this in pieces before… implied it, maybe. But I want to be clear.” She inhaled through her nose. “I don’t trust easily.”

The words hung there. Kara didn’t respond immediately, giving Lena space to continue.

Lena licked her lips and went on, quietly earnest, “It’s not… natural for me, to rely on anyone. Life taught me very young that most people can’t be trusted. They either want something from you or they end up hurting you, intentionally or not. I built a lot of walls, and I got used to only counting on myself. Even the people I care about most – I keep parts of me hidden. It’s just how I survive.”

She hesitated, searching Kara’s face for any hint of judgment or pity. She found none – only a gentle, patient attentiveness.

With a shaky breath, Lena continued. “But then you… you came along.” Her voice softened, thick with emotion. “And from practically the moment I met you, I’ve felt this… this pull to let you in. It scared me. It still does. Tonight, calling you, asking you to be here—” her voice caught. “Kara, I have never leaned on someone like this. It makes me feel exposed, and weak, and… relieved, all at once. And I don’t know how to handle that.”

Kara’s eyes shone, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Lena wasn’t finished yet. She needed to get this out.

“I trust you,” Lena whispered, and her voice broke on the confession. A tear slipped free, trailing down the bridge of her nose onto the pillow. She didn’t bother wiping it. “I trust you more than I have trusted anyone in a very, very long time. That is… exceedingly difficult for me. Because trusting someone means giving them the power to hurt you.” Her heart was racing; she hadn’t realized how terrified she was to say these truths aloud until she heard them. “And I’m so afraid of being hurt again. Of being betrayed. I couldn’t… I couldn’t take that, not from—”

Her words were cut off by Kara closing the small gap between them, pulling Lena into a tender embrace. Kara’s arms encircled her, drawing her against the solid warmth of Kara’s body. Lena’s face ended up tucked against Kara’s collarbone, and she couldn’t hold back the quiet sob that escaped her. All the stress and fear and longing she’d bottled up came pouring out in that sound.

Kara stroked a hand through Lena’s hair, voice fierce and soothing all at once. “I will never hurt you,” she murmured. “Never, Lena. Not if I can help it.”

The vow fell like a balm on Lena’s raw soul. She clutched at Kara’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as she let a few more tears fall. Kara’s embrace only tightened, anchoring her.

They stayed like that for uncounted minutes – Lena trembling through the tail end of her tears, Kara holding her and whispering gentle words: “It’s okay… I’ve got you… you’re safe.” The same assurances Kara had given before, but now imbued with an intimacy beyond measure.

When Lena’s breathing finally evened out, she felt equal parts exhausted and oddly lighter. Crying had never been something she indulged in; perhaps she’d underestimated its catharsis. Especially when done in the arms of someone who cared.

She pulled back just enough to meet Kara’s gaze again. Kara brushed the dampness from Lena’s cheeks with a tenderness that made Lena’s heart ache. “Sorry,” Lena croaked, embarrassed by her emotional collapse, yet too tired to muster much self-consciousness. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

Kara shook her head, her blonde hair rustling against the pillow. “You didn’t fall apart. You let someone else carry the weight for a bit. There’s nothing wrong with that.” She managed a small, encouraging smile. “In fact, I’m honored you felt you could trust me that much.”

Lena swallowed, her throat raw but her spirit strangely calm. “It seems I keep breaking my own rules for you,” she said softly.

“And I keep being astonished by you,” Kara replied, equally soft. She hesitated, then added, “I meant what I said, Lena. I will do everything in my power to never betray your trust. You have it, completely. I just… hope I’m worthy of yours.”

The earnest self-doubt in Kara’s tone tugged at Lena’s heart. How could Kara not see how extraordinary she was? How deserving? Lena managed a faint smile. “You are,” she assured. “You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this safe.”

A gentle, almost bashful look crossed Kara’s face. She seemed at a loss for words, so she simply pressed her forehead to Lena’s, a sweet, wordless gesture of solidarity.

They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, sharing breath and quiet companionship. Lena could feel the steady rhythm of Kara’s heartbeat under her palm where her hand rested against Kara’s chest. It was soothing, a metronome of life that lulled her frayed nerves.

Gradually, the weight of the day and the lateness of the hour pressed down. Lena’s eyes fluttered, heavy with spent tears and exhaustion.

Kara noticed. “You should sleep,” she murmured.

“Stay until I do?” Lena murmured in return, already half-drowsy, the words slipping out unchecked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kara whispered.

With that promise enveloping her, Lena finally allowed her eyes to fully close. She nestled closer to Kara, her head finding a comfortable spot against Kara’s shoulder. She felt Kara adjust, slipping an arm beneath Lena’s neck to hold her gently, securely. A warm hand stroked up and down Lena’s back in slow, soothing motions.

In the dark cocoon of Kara’s embrace, with the soft scent of Kara’s shampoo and the steady sound of Kara’s breathing filling her senses, Lena felt safer than she could ever remember feeling. The events of the day – the hidden bug, the unknown enemy – they all faded to the periphery of her mind. There would be battles to fight and problems to solve come morning, but right now, wrapped in Kara’s arms, she could rest.

And so Lena let herself drift, held aloft by the quiet certainty that she wasn’t alone. For once, the nightmares and worries did not pounce as she teetered on the edge of sleep. Instead, a gentle voice – Kara’s voice – hummed in her memory: You’re safe. Lena believed it, if only for this moment.

She slipped into sleep with the warmth of Kara beside her and the soft press of Kara’s lips – was that a kiss? – ghosting against her hair.

For the first time in a very long time, Lena Luthor slept without fear.

Kara lay awake in the hush of the early morning, long after Lena’s breathing had evened into the soft, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The bedroom was cloaked in darkness now; at some point Kara had reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp, once she was sure Lena had fully drifted off. Now only faint slivers of city light crept around the edges of the heavy curtains, just enough for Kara’s eyes to make out the gentle rise and fall of Lena’s silhouette curled against her.

Lena had gravitated even closer in sleep. She was nestled firmly in Kara’s arms, one of her hands resting lightly over Kara’s heart. Kara scarcely dared to move, afraid to wake her. Instead she savored the quiet closeness, letting her fingers stroke absently through a lock of Lena’s dark hair that spilled across the pillow.

Tonight had been a whirlwind – terror, tension, confessions, and finally this fragile peace. Holding Lena through her tears had been as heartbreaking as it was precious. Kara’s chest still ached at the memory of Lena’s voice cracking: I trust you… I’m so afraid of being hurt again. The sheer courage it must have taken for Lena to admit that left Kara in awe. And the sheer weight of the responsibility it placed on Kara left her equally humbled and fearful.

Because the cruel truth that Kara kept locked deep inside herself was that, no matter how fiercely she wanted to honor Lena’s trust, she was living a lie by omission every second they spent together. Lena didn’t know Kara was here under false pretenses – that she was an undercover agent, not a simple novelist friend. Lena didn’t know Kara had already been watching over her long before they shared that first coffee, or that Kara had just days ago wrestled a surveillance drone off her roof in secret. Lena didn’t know that even now, as she slept, Kara’s mind was strategizing how to get that bug into DEO hands by morning without raising suspicion.

Someday, inevitably, the truth would come out. Kara tried not to think about that day – the day Lena would look at her with those trusting green eyes and feel the ultimate betrayal. It made Kara’s throat tighten in dread and shame. Would Lena ever understand that Kara’s deception had been borne not out of malice, but out of a desperate need to keep her safe? Would that distinction even matter in the end?

Kara closed her eyes, hugging Lena a little closer, as if she could shield her from the heartbreak that hadn’t yet come. She found herself blinking back tears of her own now, overwhelmed by the tenderness of the woman in her arms and the painful irony of the situation. Lena’s worst fear was betrayal – and here Kara was, harboring the secret that would shatter her.

I won’t be the next one to betray you, Kara vowed silently, pressing her lips into Lena’s hair in a feather-light kiss that the sleeping woman would never feel. I can’t change what I am or what I’ve done… but I swear, Lena, I will do everything in my power to not be just another person who breaks your heart.

Maybe it was a foolish promise, one Kara had no absolute control over. But in that moment, beneath the weight of Lena’s trust and the steady warmth of Lena’s body against hers, Kara made it as though carving it into stone. She would protect Lena – not just from external threats and assassins in the night, but from herself, from her own lie. If ever the day came that the truth had to be known, Kara would meet it head on, with honesty and remorse and unwavering devotion. She would find a way to make Lena understand that her feelings had never been a lie.

Gently, Kara brushed a thumb over the slope of Lena’s shoulder. Lena murmured faintly in her sleep, nuzzling closer, and Kara’s heart tugged almost painfully. The amount of trust implicit in that small unconscious gesture was staggering. Lena Luthor, a woman who trusted so few, had instinctively gravitated to her, seeking comfort even in sleep. Kara felt a fierce swell of protectiveness and love – yes, love, she could call it that in the privacy of her own mind – surge within her.

“I won’t let you down,” Kara whispered into the darkness, the barest breath of sound. “Not again, not ever.”

Her words floated away, soundless and solemn, as if absorbed into the very night as an oath.

Lena shifted slightly, letting out a contented sigh, and Kara held her closer, grateful beyond measure to be the one beside her in this moment. Outside, somewhere far below, the city carried on – oblivious to the two women finding solace in each other against the gathering storm.

Kara remained awake a while longer, her mind eventually quieting as she matched her breaths to Lena’s. Exhaustion finally crept in, though she fought it, wanting to watch over Lena for as long as she could keep her eyes open. But the day’s trials and the late hour conspired against her.

As dawn’s earliest light began to ease the bedroom’s darkness, Kara’s blinks grew languid. With one last look at Lena’s peaceful face, she let her heavy eyes fall shut.

Her final thought as she drifted into a light sleep was a gentle refrain, echoing the promise she’d etched into her soul: I will not be the one to break you, Lena.

Come what may, Kara intended to keep that promise – even if it meant guarding it with her life.

Chapter Text

Kara Danvers sat rigidly in the DEO’s dim conference room, a restless energy coiled beneath her calm exterior. Only a few hours ago, she had awoken to the soft warmth of Lena Luthor curled against her side, Lena’s dark lashes fanning her cheeks in sleep. The memory was still vivid — Lena’s steady breathing, the way dawn’s first light had painted her peaceful face. Now, in stark contrast, Kara found herself bathed in the sterile blue glow of monitor light, her mind thousands of miles from that tender morning moment. She pressed her lips into a firm line, trying to focus on the briefing at hand, but part of her was still back in Lena’s penthouse, heart aching with concern.

Alex Danvers stood at the head of the table, arms crossed and expression grim. On the screen behind her, a tangle of data points and surveillance photos glinted. Kara recognised images of the recovered listening device and the drone she’d intercepted on Lena’s rooftop last night. Beside them was a headshot of a stocky middle-aged man with close-cropped greying hair and a scowl — an unfamiliar face to Lena, perhaps, but not to the DEO. Kara’s jaw tightened as she took in the sight of him.

“So that’s our guy?” she asked, breaking the silence. Her voice came out low and controlled, belying the turmoil underneath.

Brainy (ever focused, his real name too much of a mouthful for everyday use) nodded from where he sat by the console. “Nigel Barr. Private security contractor, ex-SAS,” he reported, eyes flicking over the data. “Currently runs a mercenary outfit that frequently contracts with large energy corporations. Shell companies, off-book operations — you get the picture.”

Kara’s stomach knotted. Energy corporations. It was as they feared. “Ties to any in particular?” she pressed, though she already had a sinking feeling she knew the answer.

Alex exchanged a look with Brainy, then fixed her gaze on Kara. “Barr’s outfit was flagged in connection to a consortium of oil conglomerates. And one name keeps popping up in the shell companies funding his work.” She tapped a key and a corporate logo flashed up beside Barr’s face — a stylised letter E encircled by an oil-drop design.

Kara felt a spark of anger ignite in her chest. “Edge Tech,” she muttered, recognising the logo instantly. She lifted her eyes to Alex’s. “Morgan Edge.”

Alex’s mouth set into a thin, displeased line. “Our intel strongly suggests Edge is backing the campaign against Lena. Barr is on his payroll, funnelling resources to stalk and sabotage her.”

A cold silence fell. Kara’s hands curled into fists on the table. Morgan Edge — the fossil fuel mogul notorious for crushing any threat to his empire — had set his sights on Lena. Kara had suspected it, even before Brainy’s analysis confirmed the link; Edge’s fingerprints had been all over the escalation of tactics, from brute force attempts to sophisticated surveillance. He’s responsible for this. The thought of that man orchestrating Lena’s terror made Kara’s vision prickle at the edges. Lena’s brilliant clean-energy technology threatened to upend the oil industry, so of course a trillion-dollar tyrant like Edge would stoop to anything to stop her.

Brainy cleared his throat softly, breaking the tension. “The drone’s guidance system provided a partial trace. We managed to retrieve a fragment of its flight path and control signals. They route back to a server farm in Oman used by one of Barr’s shell companies. And the listening device’s components are custom pieces Barr’s team has used before. It’s circumstantial but compelling.”

Kara’s chair scraped the floor as she abruptly stood. Compelling? It was far more than that — it was a damn confirmation that Lena was in the crosshairs of a faceless enemy with virtually unlimited resources. “So we have them,” she said, tone taut. “We know who’s behind this now. We can stop this.”

Alex raised a hand, a cautionary gesture. “We have a lead, Kara. Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves.”

“Jump ahead?” Kara echoed, incredulous. A flicker of anger lanced through her, surprising even herself with its intensity. She planted her palms on the table. “Alex, we have enough to go after Barr, at least to interrogate him or scare him off. And Edge—”

“Edge is untouchable right now,” Alex cut in sharply. “He’s insulated. You think he signs the orders? No, he’s got layers of deniability. We can’t exactly send a tactical team to haul in one of the world’s richest men based on an indirect data trail. We need concrete evidence and a plan that doesn’t end in an international incident.”

Kara’s nostrils flared. She knew Alex was right about Edge’s untouchability in principle, but every second they hemmed and hawed felt like another second Lena remained a target. “Then at least warn Lena,” she retorted. “We should tell her who’s behind this, or at minimum that the threat is real and high-level. She needs to know what she’s up against.”

Across the table, Alex’s face hardened — not with anger, but with that familiar blend of concern and exasperation she reserved specifically for her younger sister. “We’ve been over this,” she said, voice level but firm. “We cannot tell Lena anything without compromising the mission. Jack hired us on the condition that Lena stays unaware. If we tip her off now—”

“She could take precautions!” Kara interjected, unable to contain herself. “She wouldn’t be caught off guard. Alex, she found a bug in her own lab, do you have any idea how violated she feels? She’s not stupid — she knows someone is coming after her. Keeping her in the dark isn’t protecting her; it’s leaving her vulnerable and paranoid.”

“She’s safer not knowing the full extent,” Alex insisted. “If we tell her it’s Edge, what do you think she’ll do? March up to him? Go public? That could escalate things even further or drive Edge to ground. And it would definitely blow your cover. Then where would we be? Our best advantage is that Barr and Edge have no idea we’re onto them. They think they’re playing Lena unopposed.”

Kara forced herself to take a slow breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She could feel the red lines of frustration and fear blurring in her mind. “So what’s the plan, then?” she asked tightly. “Wait for these bastards to make another move on her? Use Lena as bait until we catch them in the act?”

Alex grimaced; the truth of it was uncomfortable to say aloud. “We continue monitoring. We tighten surveillance on Barr’s known associates. If we get wind of an imminent attack, we intervene quietly. But yes… essentially, we have to let them continue for now. It’s the only way to ensure we get the evidence to put them away for good.”

Kara pushed off the table, pacing a short line across the small room. The idea of Lena as unwitting bait was abhorrent. “And what if something happens before we can stop it?” she said, her voice low, almost a growl. “We nearly didn’t get there in time with the car. We wouldn’t have known about the drone if I hadn’t been there. How many more near-misses are acceptable, Alex?”

Alex’s eyes flashed. “You know none of this is acceptable,” she snapped, a rare crack in her composure. She strode forward and gently gripped Kara’s arm, halting her frantic pacing. Softer, she added, “But this is what we signed up for. High stakes, imperfect information. We cannot act rashly out of fear.”

Kara met her gaze, and for a moment, the sisters simply looked at each other — Alex’s eyes pleading for understanding, Kara’s simmering with defiance. Fear and love warred within Kara’s chest. She understood, rationally, the logic in Alex’s approach. But rationality felt painfully insufficient against the image burnt into her mind of Lena’s brave face crumpling in shock as she plucked that bug from her lab equipment, or the way Lena’s voice had trembled ever so slightly on the phone when she’d whispered, “I need your help.” Kara had sworn to herself that Lena would never have to feel that fear alone again.

Finally, Kara broke the silence, her tone measured but cold. “I’m not asking for forgiveness if I step out of line here. I’m telling you: I’m not going to just sit back and watch Lena get hunted.”

Alex’s grip on her arm tightened in warning. “Kara…”

“No.” Kara shook her head, her resolve solidifying. “I won’t cross that red line. I’m not going to let bureaucratic caution cost Lena her safety.”

A charged pause. Alex slowly released Kara’s arm, her expression shifting from anger to something more wounded. “Bureaucratic caution? Is that what you think this is?” she asked quietly. “We built the DEO to avoid bureaucracy — but we still need strategy. If you go off-script now, you risk everything. Not just the mission, but Lena’s trust… your cover… maybe even her life if it backfires.”

Kara swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at her even through the haze of frustration. She knew Alex was only trying to protect her, too — to keep her from making a mistake she couldn’t undo. But Kara’s instincts screamed that doing nothing, saying nothing, was the greater sin. She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily. “What do you expect me to do?” she asked, voice rough. “Keep lying to her face day in and day out, knowing full well some hired gun is plotting to—” She cut herself off, unable to finish.

Alex’s expression softened with sympathy. “I expect you to do your job, Kara,” she said gently. “Which, unfortunately, includes lying to her. Just a little longer. Until this is handled.”

A bitter taste coated the back of Kara’s tongue. Your job. Once upon a time, Kara had been able to draw that neat line between duty and heart. But that line had blurred the moment she saw Lena Luthor laugh in a coffee shop sunlight, the moment she first coaxed a real smile from her over dinner, the moment Lena had kissed her in a dark kitchen with gratitude and longing. Now Kara’s heart was her duty, inextricable.

Before she could answer Alex, a buzzing sound on the table cut through the tension. Kara glanced down: her personal phone — the one Lena knew her by — vibrated insistently, skittering a few inches across the polished surface. Lena’s name flashed on the screen.

Both sisters froze for a heartbeat. Kara’s eyes darted to Alex. For a second, she considered not answering in front of her, but worry won out over secrecy. It could be important — maybe something had happened. Kara snatched up the phone. “I have to take this,” she muttered, already swiping to accept the call.

She pressed the device to her ear and forced some lightness into her voice. “Hey, you,” she greeted, walking a couple of paces away from Alex. “Good morning.”

On the other end of the line, Lena’s voice came through warm and intimate, a balm against Kara’s raw nerves. “Morning,” Lena murmured. Just that one word — coloured with fondness and the remnants of sleep — eased a knot in Kara’s chest. “Did I catch you at a bad time? You ran off so early, I wasn’t sure if you had meetings or… something.”

Kara’s heart did a guilty flip. She could picture Lena at her desk, phone cradled to her ear, concern creasing her brow. Meetings — not exactly, unless one counted clandestine intel briefings about your secret lover’s life being in danger. She swallowed the truth and offered a gentle lie. “No, it’s fine. I’m never too busy for you.” Her tone turned wry, affectionate. “And yeah, sorry about that. I had to meet my, uh, friend first thing. The one I mentioned, who could take a look at our little… souvenir from last night.”

Behind her, Kara could feel Alex’s gaze fixed on her back like a laser. She stepped closer to the windows, lowering her voice a touch, though she knew Alex could still likely hear her side of the exchange.

“Oh, of course,” Lena replied. There was a rustle of movement — perhaps Lena standing from her chair or leaning against something. “I figured it was something to do with that. I hope I didn’t impose, asking you to handle it. I just… I didn’t know who else to trust.” The vulnerability in Lena’s voice was subtle but unmistakable.

Kara closed her eyes, pressing a hand to the cool window pane as she spoke. “You can always trust me,” she said softly. The statement was both reassurance and a painful irony. She pressed on quickly. “My friend’s the best at this sort of thing, I promise. If there’s anything to find, he’ll find it.”

“I believe you,” Lena said, and Kara could hear a faint smile in her words now. “Honestly, I already feel better knowing you’re… well, on my side.” She gave a quiet, self-conscious laugh, as if aware of how sentimental it sounded. “Last night, after you left, the penthouse felt absurdly large. I kept thinking I heard noises… I suppose my imagination running wild. It’s silly, I know.”

“It’s not silly,” Kara said immediately. The image of Lena alone in her penthouse, jumping at shadows, sent a fresh surge of protectiveness through her. “What you’re feeling is normal after finding something like that. God, Lena, anyone would be rattled. But remember, you’re not alone, okay? I’m right here. Whatever you need.”

On the phone, Lena drew a breath as if to respond, but hesitated. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “Thank you. For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if… if I hadn’t met you.”

Kara’s throat tightened. She turned, leaning her back against the glass now, eyes unfocused on the middle distance of the ops floor. Alex had politely averted her gaze and was pretending not to listen, studying the data on the screen again — but Kara knew her sister’s ears were wide open. Heat crept up Kara’s neck at the intimacy of this conversation happening in so public a place, yet she couldn’t bring herself to dampen Lena’s openness with formality. Lena needed to feel her closeness right now, and damn it, Kara needed it too.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Kara said, barely above a whisper. Tenderness bled into every syllable. “I’m just… really glad I was there. That I am here.”

Lena sighed, a soft exhale that crackled through the receiver. “Me too.” A brief silence fell, filled with things unspoken. After a moment, Lena cleared her throat gently, shifting to a lighter tone. “Anyway — I won’t keep you. I should get to the lab. I’ve got a backlog of work, and Jess is already sending me subtle looks that say I’m behind schedule.”

Kara smiled, picturing Lena’s ever-efficient assistant fussing about the day’s agenda. “Of course. Don’t let me distract you from saving the world one invention at a time.” She infused the tease with genuine admiration that she felt to her core.

A soft chuckle from Lena. “I’ll try. And you—” she paused, a hint of reluctance in her voice about ending the call, “—keep me posted, alright? About what your friend finds. Even if it’s later today.”

“I will,” Kara promised. “We’ll talk soon. And, hey… try not to worry too much. Easier said than done, I know, but I’ll see you this evening, yes? Maybe we can grab dinner?” She phrased it casually, but both of them knew it was more than just dinner. It was reassurance.

“Yes, this evening,” Lena agreed warmly. “I’d like that. Talk to you soon, Kara.”

“Until soon,” Kara echoed gently, and reluctantly hung up.

She stood still for a moment, phone in hand, allowing herself a single breath to collect her emotions. The conversation had been simple in words, but laden with comfort and longing that wrapped around Kara’s heart like a soft ribbon. It hurt, in a way — how something so sweet could sting so much. Lena’s trust and gratitude were like knives that Kara willingly turned on herself. I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t met you. Lena had no idea that meeting Kara was no coincidence. That it had all been orchestrated for her protection. Would she still thank her if she knew the truth?

Kara pushed the thought away as she turned back to face Alex. Her sister was watching her with an unreadable expression, arms still folded. Kara set her jaw slightly, bracing for the reprimand she knew was coming.

Alex didn’t disappoint. “Cozy conversation?” she said, arching a brow. The attempt at lightness didn’t hide the underlying tension.

Kara slipped her phone into her back pocket. “Don’t, Alex. Not now.” Her voice came out more tired than angry.

Alex sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead. For a moment, the hardened DEO director façade faltered, revealing the concerned sister underneath. “Kara… I’m not trying to upset you. But I am worried. About you. This —” she gestured vaguely toward the phone and the now-idle screen of intel, “— her. You’re in deep.”

Kara’s shoulders tensed. “I know exactly how deep I am,” she replied quietly.

“Do you?” Alex stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Last night you spent the night at her place. And from what I gather, that’s not the first time.” Seeing Kara’s eyes flash, Alex hurried on. “I’m not judging. I know feelings happen. Jack and I knew it was a risk assigning you to this. But we did it because you’re the best and because you swore you could handle it.”

“I have handled it,” Kara said defensively. “I’ve kept her safe, I’ve kept my cover—”

“And you’ve fallen for her,” Alex finished, not unkindly. Kara opened her mouth to protest, but the lie wouldn’t come. The truth was plain and shining in the quiet between them. She loved Lena — perhaps didn’t dare say it or fully accept its shape, but love it was, steady and fierce and terrifying.

Kara’s silence was answer enough. Alex’s expression softened further, tinged with pity. “Kara… I get it. She’s incredible. And you’re only human.” Alex managed a slight, rueful smile. “Well, mostly human. Human enough.” Her smile faded. “But you know as well as I do, this can’t end well if you keep going like this.”

Kara felt something twist in her chest. Her voice came out hoarse. “Please. Don’t give me the ‘you can’t have it both ways’ speech.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Alex sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know what the right answer is anymore. If we yank you out now, Lena’s left exposed and you’d hate me forever. If we tell her the truth, she’ll hate you — and probably us — and refuse any further protection. And if we do nothing… we risk her getting hurt, and you getting hurt right along with her.” She shook her head. “There are no good options here. So we have to choose the least bad. And right now that is staying the course. Stay close to her if you must for her safety, but keep it as subtle as you can. And for God’s sake, be careful. If Barr or Edge even get a hint that you’re more than you seem, they could adapt tactics. Or if Lena starts to suspect your double life… that could blow everything too, right when she’s in the most danger.”

Kara looked down at the floor, her throat tight. “She already suspects something’s off,” she admitted softly. “I see it in her eyes sometimes. She knows I hold back.”

Alex placed a hand on Kara’s shoulder, gentle. “Then you need to hold the line. Just a little longer. Can you do that?”

Kara shut her eyes. Hold the line. She thought of the red lines she swore never to cross again after that mission seven years ago — lines of deception, of becoming someone she wasn’t. And yet, here she was, having crossed them anew for Lena’s sake. What was one more line drawn and crossed, if it kept Lena safe?

Finally, she nodded, once, a stiff dip of her chin. “I’ll do my job,” she said, quietly resigned.

Alex gave her shoulder a brief squeeze, relief washing over her features. “Thank you.”

“But Alex,” Kara added, her voice gaining steel as she opened her eyes. “I am staying with her. Officially if possible, unofficially if I have to. I’m not leaving her alone while Barr and his goons are circling.” She held up a hand before Alex could object. “I can be discreet. She won’t suspect a thing beyond… well, beyond what she already suspects.” Her jaw clenched. “I’ll lie better, if that’s what it takes.”

Alex searched her face for a long moment, then gave a reluctant nod. “Just keep me updated. And if you catch even a whisper of trouble—”

“I’ll call it in immediately,” Kara finished.

She turned to leave, and Alex called after her softly, “Be careful, Kara. Please.”

Kara paused at the doorway and glanced back at her sister. “I will,” she said. A myriad of other words fluttered at the back of her throat — I’m scared too, thank you, I’m sorry — but none found voice. Instead, she offered a faint smile of gratitude and slipped out.

As Kara strode through the halls of the DEO, her mind was already racing ahead. There was no question of what she’d do next: she was going straight to Lena. Officially, her cover gave her plenty of flexibility — the life of a novelist allowed for midday disappearances without raising eyebrows. And unofficially, well, Alex had as much as sanctioned her continued proximity now.

She passed by a row of glass panels where her reflection kept pace: a tall, blonde woman in a leather jacket and dark jeans, eyes determined and stride purposeful. She looked steadier than she felt. In truth, a tempest of anxiety churned inside her. The lead on Edge was progress, but hollow victory if they weren’t going to act on it yet. Lena remained under threat, and Lena remained unaware of why.

Kara’s thoughts drifted to Lena’s voice on the phone — how bravely she tried to sound normal, how clear it was that she was still shaken. She imagined Lena arriving at L-Corp that morning, walking into her lab with the knowledge that someone had violated even that sanctum. It must have taken extraordinary poise to greet her team and pretend everything was business as usual. That was Lena through and through: composed on the surface, a storm beneath the skin.

Kara… I didn’t know who else to trust. Lena’s words echoed in her mind, both a comfort and a dagger. Kara would carry the weight of that trust, even if her knees buckled under it. Especially then.

Lena’s day was not progressing well.

By noon, she felt stretched thin, as if her nerves were violin strings tightened to the brink of snapping. On the surface, everything proceeded normally at L-Corp’s London lab. Researchers bustled, machines hummed, and the steady flow of progress churned on. But to Lena, the very air felt different: every shadow in the corner of her lab seemed darker, every distant sound more ominous. The discovery of the bug in her equipment last night had fundamentally changed the way she viewed her surroundings. Where once she saw only the clean, glass-and-steel comfort of her second home, she now saw potential hiding spots for more insidious devices, prying eyes and ears in every reflection.

She had told no one at the company of the bug — not yet. Early that morning, she’d quietly instructed her most trusted IT specialist to arrange a discreet security sweep of the premises, framing it as a routine check. She didn’t want to spark panic or tip off any possible insiders by announcing that surveillance hardware had been found. It was possible, of course, that the culprit was external, that someone had slipped in from outside. But the bitter truth was that it could just as easily be an inside job. That thought stung: the idea that someone on her payroll, someone who smiled at her in the halls, could be in Edge’s pocket.

Edge. She had no proof yet, but her mind kept circling back to him. It wasn’t paranoia if she had real enemies, and Morgan Edge was certainly that. He’d openly decried her work in interviews, lobbied against her patents, even tried to bribe a government official to revoke one of L-Corp’s research permits last year. The man had a vendetta against anything that threatened his fossil fuel empire. And Lena Luthor’s vision for clean energy was nothing if not a dire threat to men like him.

Lena exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat at her lab desk, trying to refocus on the holographic schematic hovering above her tablet. The lines of a complex molecular diagram swam in and out of focus. She realized she’d been rereading the same data point for several minutes without absorbing it.

A knock at the glass door of her private lab office made her look up. Jess, her assistant, stood there with a hesitant smile, holding two coffee cups. Lena gestured for her to come in, grateful for the interruption. “Bless you, Jess, you read my mind,” Lena said, managing a small smile as Jess offered one of the cups.

“Figured you might need a pick-me-up,” Jess replied kindly. “It’s been a busy morning.”

That was an understatement. Lena had thrown herself at tasks all morning to keep from spiralling into worry: back-to-back meetings with R&D, endless emails to investors, a teleconference, and now, an attempt to bury herself in the technical troubleshooting of their prototype which stubbornly refused to meet its efficiency targets. Normally, the work would invigorate her, but today her concentration was shot.

“Busy, yes,” Lena agreed, accepting the coffee. She took a sip — it was exactly as she liked it, oat milk and a pinch of cinnamon. Jess knew her well. “Thanks.”

Jess lingered, hovering with a folder pressed to her chest. “Also, I wanted to remind you, Dr. Murakami rescheduled the prototype meeting to tomorrow. So you have a bit of a break now… if you need it.”

Lena glanced at the clock on her screen. It was just past noon. A break. What would she even do with one, except brood? She forced a grateful expression. “That’s probably for the best. Thank you, Jess.”

Her assistant gave a sympathetic tilt of her head. “Is… everything alright, Dr. Luthor? You seem a little…” she trailed off, searching for a polite word.

Lena mustered a reassuring smile, the practiced mask she had worn for years. “I’m fine. Just a slight headache. I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Jess nodded, not pushing further. “Well, try to take it easy for an hour. Your 1 o’clock is with the legal team, and you know how they are — better to get some rest while you can.”

Lena almost laughed. Rest. Right. But she appreciated Jess’s concern. “I will. Thank you.”

As Jess left, quietly closing the glass door, Lena leaned back in her chair and let her smile fade. She hated lying to those who trusted her. Jess looked up to her, and here she was pretending everything was fine. But Lena couldn’t exactly confide, “Actually, someone might have been spying on us for weeks, cheers,” to her staff. No, she would shoulder this burden as she always did — alone, at least until she had something concrete to tell them or a solution in hand.

Alone. The word tasted bitter. Last night, she hadn’t been alone. Far from it — she’d been wrapped in Kara’s arms, trembling with shock and relief in equal measure as she recounted the discovery of the bug. Kara had been an anchor, calm and strong, guiding her gently through the panic. They had gone back to Lena’s home, and Kara had insisted on checking the penthouse for any signs of intrusion (she found none, and Lena had watched her with equal parts gratitude and curiosity at her thoroughness). And later, when exhaustion finally overcame adrenaline, Lena had asked Kara to stay the night — the memory made her cheeks warm even now. It had been an innocent request born of a deep need for comfort, and Kara had readily agreed.

They had fallen asleep together in Lena’s king-sized bed, not quite touching at first. But at some hazy point in the night, Lena had drifted awake to find Kara’s hand in hers and Kara’s steady heartbeat under her cheek. Rather than pull away, Kara had drawn her closer, murmuring soft words Lena was too sleepy to fully recall. In that moment, Lena felt safer than she had in weeks, enveloped by a sense of rightness. It scared her how much solace she took in Kara’s presence — and how quickly she was coming to rely on it.

Now, in the harsh light of day, Lena longed for that comfort again. She lifted her phone, tempted to message Kara, even just a quick hello or an update. We just spoke, she chided herself silently. Kara was busy following up on the bug analysis. Still, the urge to reach out was strong. Perhaps just a small text: How is it going? or Miss you.

Lena huffed at herself. Miss you. God, when was the last time she’d felt that ache, that simple yearning for someone’s presence? It was almost frightening in its intensity. They had only been… what? Dating? Seeing each other? Whatever it was, it had been mere weeks. And yet Kara had slipped through her defences with disarming ease, becoming vital to Lena’s life as if she’d always been there.

A ping from her computer jolted Lena from her reverie — a calendar reminder. Right, she had a break. And sitting here alone in her thoughts clearly wasn’t doing her any favours. Perhaps she should heed Jess’s advice and step out for a bit of fresh air before the next meeting. Maybe grab a sandwich or at least walk the atrium to clear her head.

Decision made, Lena shut down the schematic she’d failed to work on and stood, smoothing her emerald-green blouse and tugging her lab coat off (no need to announce to the whole office that the CEO was having a shaky day). She traded the coat for her tailored jacket, checked her reflection briefly in the glass (the woman staring back looked composed and crisply professional, if a tad pale), and headed out.

The main open-plan lab floor greeted her with its usual controlled chaos. Engineers and scientists hurried about, engrossed in tasks. Lena offered polite nods and half-smiles as she passed clusters of her team. She could do this — act normal, project confidence. It was just another day.

She was nearly to the lifts when she spotted a familiar figure stepping off one. Lena’s heart did a little leap before her brain fully processed it — Kara. Kara was here, walking into L-Corp’s lab, a cardboard tray with coffee cups in hand and a paper bag tucked under one arm. She was dressed casually as usual: dark jeans, boots, a soft-looking grey jumper beneath a black leather jacket. Sunglasses perched atop her golden hair. She scanned the room as if looking for someone.

Lena was so surprised that she stopped short, causing a lab tech behind her to almost collide with her. Murmuring an apology, Lena stepped aside and took a moment to simply watch Kara move through the space. Kara’s stance was relaxed, a small polite smile on her face as some of the staff noticed the pretty stranger and gave curious looks. But Lena didn’t miss the subtle way Kara’s eyes flicked around, assessing exits, noting faces, checking corners. It was quick, almost unnoticeable — but Lena had seen Kara do it before, she realised. Back in the garage that night, and even at the coffee shop when they first met, Kara had this habit of scanning her environment.

In the early days, Lena assumed it was just an ex-journalist’s observational nature, or perhaps a symptom of Kara’s own wariness. But after everything, Lena now wondered if it was something more — an instinct born of training or trauma. Regardless, when Kara’s gaze finally found Lena, all the cool vigilance melted into warmth. Kara’s entire face lit up with a smile that sent a flutter through Lena’s chest.

“There you are,” Kara grinned as she strode forward. The relief and pleasure in her tone were palpable, and it caused a few heads in the lab to turn and then hurriedly look away — it wasn’t every day their stern boss was greeted so familiarly.

Lena managed to recover from her initial surprise and closed the remaining distance between them. “Kara… what are you doing here?” She kept her voice low, but she couldn’t help the genuine happiness that slipped into it.

Kara jiggled the tray in her hand lightly. “Bribery,” she declared playfully. “I come bearing the universally accepted currency of forgiveness: caffeine and sugar.”

Lena blinked. “Forgiveness? For what?”

“For sneaking out so early,” Kara clarified, tilting her head with a slightly sheepish look. “I felt terrible leaving you before you were awake. I wanted to make it up to you by delivering a proper late-morning pick-me-up.” She lifted the paper bag and coffee tray as evidence, then added with a softer note, “And… I wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing.”

Lena’s initial bewilderment gave way to something softer, warmer. She glanced around at the gawking researchers and decided she didn’t care in the slightest if they saw her affection right now. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, touched, as she guided Kara a little off to the side, nearer a corner away from the heaviest foot traffic.

“I know,” Kara replied. “I wanted to.”

They stood facing each other amidst the low thrum of the lab. Up close, Lena could see faint shadows under Kara’s blue eyes — likely from the long night and early morning. Yet Kara looked at her so intently, as if Lena were the only person in the world. It sent Lena’s heart into a gentle gallop.

A smile broke across Lena’s face, genuine and grateful. “To what do I owe the honour of such royal treatment? Surely you have better things to do than ferry coffee across town.”

Kara chuckled. “My schedule’s pretty open until I meet up with my inside man later to hear what he found.” She used a mock conspiratorial tone on ‘inside man’, which earned an amused smirk from Lena. Then Kara held out one of the cups to Lena. “Almond milk latte, extra shot, one sugar, just how you like it. And,” she pulled a smaller cup from the tray, “a double espresso for me because I think I used up all nine lives last night and I’m running on fumes.”

Lena accepted the latte, fingertips brushing Kara’s as she did. That small contact felt grounding. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “This is… incredibly sweet of you.”

Kara’s eyes softened. “Sweet isn’t hard when it comes to you.” The quiet earnestness of the statement made Lena’s cheeks warm for what felt like the hundredth time in Kara’s presence.

To hide the sudden flush of pleasure, Lena took a sip of her coffee. Perfect temperature, perfectly made. Of course Kara remembered her preferred order, down to every detail. Kara always paid attention — sometimes in ways that unsettled Lena when she thought about it too closely. But today, in this moment, she let herself enjoy being cared for.

Kara shifted the tray to tuck it under her arm, freeing a hand to gently touch Lena’s elbow. “How’s your day going?” she asked, concern threading under the casual tone. “Any… news on your end?” The question was layered; Lena heard the subtext: Any more signs of intrusion? Are you okay?

Lena sighed and inclined her head toward her office. “Walk with me?”

Inside the privacy of Lena’s glass-walled office (she shut the door firmly this time), she set down her latte and folded her arms, leaning against her desk as she regarded Kara. Kara placed the pastry bag on the desk and stood close, her expression attentive.

“No news,” Lena said at last, answering Kara’s question. “I haven’t told anyone except a very small, very trusted handful to quietly sweep for… any other unwanted devices.” She lowered her voice, even though they were alone. “I didn’t mention what I found specifically. Just a precautionary sweep.”

Kara nodded, approval evident. “Smart. No sense alerting the culprit that you’re onto them.”

“Exactly.” Lena traced a finger along the edge of her desk, debating how much to share of her suspicions. Finally, she added in a near-whisper, “Between you and me, I have my theories on who might be responsible. But nothing concrete.”

Kara’s eyes flashed with interest. “You do?” she asked carefully.

Lena offered a tight, humorless smile. “Morgan Edge has practically declared war on me in the boardroom and the press more than once. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s decided to take it further.” She searched Kara’s face as she said it, looking for any reaction that might confirm or deny. Kara’s expression remained neutral, but Lena caught a slight tightening at the corner of her eyes. So Kara thought it was plausible too. Lena let out a breath. “But as I said, no proof. And I can hardly waltz into Edge’s office and accuse him of corporate espionage without it.”

Kara stepped closer, her hand gently cupping Lena’s shoulder now in support. “I’m sorry,” she said, the sincerity in her voice making Lena’s throat constrict unexpectedly. “I wish you didn’t have to deal with any of this.”

Lena shrugged one shoulder, trying for nonchalance. “It’s not exactly a shock that someone out there wants to make my life difficult. Comes with the territory of trying to change the world, I suppose. I just—” She hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I just hoped those threats might stay in emails and angry tweets. Devices in my lab… drones outside my home… it’s a different level.”

Her eyes prickled with the tears she hadn’t permitted last night. No, she’d held those at bay, focusing on action. But now, with Kara here, safe and steady and looking at her with such care, the weight of it pressed down. “I hate that I feel… afraid,” Lena confessed, voice barely audible. “I hate that whoever is doing this has me looking over my shoulder in my own building.”

Kara’s face fell into an expression of gentle sorrow. In one fluid motion, she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around Lena. Lena didn’t realise how much she needed the hug until she was in it — until Kara’s warmth and subtle scent (a mix of vanilla and something like summer wind) enveloped her. She released a shaky breath against Kara’s shoulder, her hands coming up to grasp the back of Kara’s jacket.

“You have every right to feel that way,” Kara murmured against her hair. “But I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not now, not ever.”

Lena squeezed her eyes shut. Promises. Easy to make, hard to keep. Yet coming from Kara, she wanted to believe these words more than anything. She pulled back slightly, enough to see Kara’s face. They were close, bodies still brushing. Kara’s hands slid down Lena’s arms to lightly grip her elbows.

The midday light streaming through the windows illuminated Kara’s features — the earnest blue of her eyes, the faint freckles on her cheeks, the concern etched in that slight furrow between her brows. Lena’s heart turned over. “I trust you,” she said, surprising herself with how quickly and surely the words came. “I trust you, Kara.”

Kara’s breath seemed to catch. For an instant, an expression of pain flickered over her face, so quickly Lena might have imagined it. Kara bowed her head, breaking eye contact, and Lena felt her tense.

Before Lena could parse it, Kara carefully stepped back, letting her hands fall away from Lena’s arms. She looked down at the pastry bag, clearing her throat. “I, um, also brought food,” she said, voice a touch too bright. “In case you haven’t eaten.”

Lena’s arms felt suddenly cold where Kara’s touch had been. The abrupt distance was jarring. One moment Kara was holding her like she never wanted to let go, the next she was inches farther, fussing with a bag of croissants as if they were in some casual business meeting. Lena’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Kara retreat the second things got emotionally intense.

The first was the night of the garage incident — after that desperate kiss in the kitchen, Kara had pulled away as if scalded, apologising and insisting Lena was in shock and they should slow down. At the time, Lena accepted it, even appreciated the caution given how overwrought they both were. But then again, even as they grew closer in the following days, Kara remained somewhat guarded. There were walls Lena could feel but not see.

Even last night, after all that had happened, Kara had been attentive and gentle as they went to bed. She held Lena until she slept, but notably, when Lena had woken in the morning, Kara was already up and dressed, a cup of tea ready, offering practical next steps about the device. Kara had been affectionate — a soft kiss to Lena’s forehead, a promise to return later — yet Lena sensed a certain emotional remove, like a part of Kara was always just out of reach.

And here it was again. It’s as though whenever Lena got too close to something real, Kara deftly redirected.

Lena accepted the croissant Kara was now holding out to her, but she did not drop her scrutiny of the woman before her. “Thank you,” she said, carefully. She took a bite of the pastry, more to give herself a moment to think than out of hunger. It was flaky, buttery… and utterly flavourless to her distracted mind.

Kara leaned against the desk, nibbling her own pastry with a pretense of normalcy. Her gaze flitted to the side window; Lena suspected Kara was checking the lab outside even now, not fully relaxed.

A question formed on Lena’s tongue, one she wasn’t sure she truly wanted answered but that refused to stay silent. She set the croissant down, brushing off a stray crumb from her fingers, and spoke gently. “Kara… are you alright?”

Kara blinked, turning back to her. “Me? Of course. I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem… on edge.” Lena chose her words delicately. “Not just today — though certainly today must be stressful after last night — but in general. Sometimes I get the sense there’s a lot weighing on you.” She tried to keep her tone light, non-accusatory, but her heart thumped with nerves. She didn’t want Kara to feel attacked, but she did want honesty.

Kara was already shaking her head. “I’m okay. Really. I just worry about you, that’s all. Last night was…” She exhaled, a controlled breath. “It was a lot. I’m a little keyed up from it still, I guess.” She smiled, aiming for reassuring, but Lena could see it didn’t entirely reach her eyes.

Lena set her coffee cup aside and stepped nearer again. If Kara would not let her past these invisible walls with ease, then at least Lena could signal she was here whenever Kara was ready. She reached out and gently took Kara’s free hand, lacing their fingers. Kara looked down at their joined hands, her own fingers squeezing reflexively as if the contact steadied her.

“You know,” Lena began softly, “I realise I’ve been doing an awful lot of leaning on you. Especially these past few days. But I don’t want it to be a one-way street. If there’s anything on your mind… anything at all, you can lean on me too. I hope you know that.”

Kara’s gaze remained fixed on their hands, her thumb stroking once across Lena’s knuckles. It felt at once intimate and distant — Kara’s body was here, warm and solid, but her mind seemed far away. “You don’t need to worry about me,” Kara said quietly. “I… I keep my stuff pretty under control.”

That, Lena recognised instantly, was a deflection if ever she heard one. A polished way of saying I don’t want to talk about it. Lena’s frustration pricked. Not at Kara exactly, but at the barrier between them. She had bared so many of her own vulnerabilities to Kara readily. Why wouldn’t Kara do the same? Didn’t she trust Lena in return?

Unless she had secrets she simply couldn’t share. The thought slithered in: What do you really know about Kara Danvers?She seemed to avoid specifics about her past. Lena remembered a few times she’d asked casually about Kara’s journalism days or her family, and Kara had given pleasant but vague answers. At the time, Lena chalked it up to Kara’s humility or perhaps painful memories. Now, in light of everything, a trickle of doubt seeped in. Was Kara hiding something deeper?

Kara has been nothing but good to you, Lena reminded herself firmly. She refused to let paranoia poison this one bright thing in her life. Everyone has scars they aren’t ready to share, and Kara had never pressed Lena beyond what she was willing to say.

So Lena mustered a gentle smile and lifted Kara’s hand to press it between both of hers. “Alright,” she relented softly. “I won’t pry. But promise me you’ll take care of yourself too? I can’t have you running yourself ragged worrying about me day and night.”

Kara looked up finally, and whatever she saw in Lena’s face made her features soften. “You’re worth worrying about,” she said, with a faint attempt at teasing that came out more earnest than jest. Then she nodded. “But yes, I promise. I can look after myself. I’ve done it a long time.”

That last bit had an edge of sadness to it that tugged at Lena’s heart. How long had Kara been living a life where she felt she had no one to lean on? Lena had the sudden urge to erase whatever loneliness or hurt lay in Kara’s past. But she sensed if she pushed now, Kara would withdraw further.

A gentle rap at the door made them both turn. Jess was hovering again, looking apologetic. Through the glass, she mouthed, “Legal team is here.”

Lena gave a tiny nod and held up a finger to indicate she’d be out in a minute. Jess disappeared.

“Saved by the meeting,” Kara quipped softly. She attempted a light tone, but regret flickered in her eyes.

“Seems so,” Lena replied with a mild sigh. She squeezed Kara’s hand once more and let it go. Duty called. There was always something.

Kara cleared her throat. “I should get going anyway. I have a… rendezvous with my friend in a bit.” She hesitated, then ventured, “Do you want me to come by this evening after work? I meant it about dinner. We could stay in, order something… or I can cook, though full disclosure, my cooking might not be much better than takeaway.” She smiled lopsidedly.

The idea of not spending the evening alone in her penthouse sounded wonderful. And she did have more she wanted to say, to ask — but perhaps later, when there was more time, in the safety of home. “I’d love that,” Lena said, allowing warmth to flood back into her tone. “I don’t care what we eat. Just come over.”

Kara’s relief was obvious. “I will. As soon as you’re done for the day, call me and I’ll head over. Or I can pick you up.”

Lena chuckled softly. “Kara, I’m not a damsel you need to chauffeur around. I have my car and driver.”

Kara’s face twitched in a quick, humorous grimace. “Humour me. After everything, I’d prefer if you weren’t alone, even in transit.”

It was a reasonable point, though Lena suspected part of Kara simply wanted the extra time with her. She found she didn’t mind. “Alright. I’ll text you when I’m wrapping up, and you can play knight-errant and drive me home.”

Kara beamed, clearly pleased. “Deal.”

With that settled, Kara collected the trash from their impromptu lunch and prepared to take her leave. Impulse swayed Lena in that moment — before Kara turned to the door, Lena caught her arm gently. When Kara glanced back, Lena leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on Kara’s cheek, just shy of the corner of her mouth. Kara froze for a half-second, then her free hand came up to rest lightly at Lena’s waist. She turned her head as if to capture Lena’s lips properly, but then another muffled knock-knock on the door made them break apart with a mutual, breathy laugh.

“Rain check,” Lena whispered, her eyes glinting.

“You bet,” Kara whispered back, eyes warm and a touch dazed.

It took all of Lena’s willpower to step away and not think about the faint blush dusting Kara’s cheeks as she watched her slip out of the office. Kara gave a polite nod to the small cluster of suited legal advisors waiting near Jess’s desk (who looked rather surprised that their CEO had a visitor who wasn’t being announced). Then she was gone, a flash of sunlight off the elevator doors as they closed behind her.

Lena touched her own cheek where it still felt warm from nearly colliding with Kara’s lips. With a fortifying breath, she straightened her jacket and went to face her legal team. The professional mask slid back over her features, but inside, a cautious optimism fluttered. The day had suddenly gotten a little brighter.

True to her word, Lena texted Kara at half past six that evening: Heading out in 10. And true to her word, Kara was there, parked discreetly just down the block from L-Corp’s entrance, engine idling in a nondescript navy sedan that the DEO had provided for her cover.

Lena’s driver had looked a bit miffed at being pre-emptively dismissed, but Lena assured him it was a last-minute change of plans and thanked him for his flexibility. She slid into the passenger seat of Kara’s car, feeling a strange thrill at this small deviation from routine. It felt almost like playing hooky from her own life — sneaking off with Kara instead of following her usual security detail’s protocol.

As soon as she settled in the seat, Kara leaned over and kissed her — a swift, welcome press of lips that nonetheless sent a pleasant tingle through Lena. “Hi,” Kara said, smiling against her lips for a second before pulling back and starting to drive.

“Hi,” Lena replied, smiling as well. She relaxed against the seat, watching Kara deftly navigate the city streets. Dusk was falling, and London’s streetlights blinked awake one by one, casting moving shadows across Kara’s face as they went. There was something domestic and comforting in this — driving home together after a workday, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if they’d been doing it for years.

They chatted about inconsequential things on the ride — Lena complaining lightly about the pedantic nature of her lawyers, Kara recounting a humorous anecdote about a supposed “writing inspiration” trip she’d taken to a village where she accidentally trespassed onto a farm (Lena laughed, imagining Kara chased by geese or something, though part of her wondered if even these funny little stories were part of Kara’s cover rather than real memories). It was easy, flowing, and for a short while, Lena felt almost like this was a normal evening and she was a normal woman with her girlfriend, heading home to a peaceful night.

Yet, underlying it all, there was still that undercurrent of vigilance. Lena noticed how Kara’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirrors often, how every time they stopped at a light Kara’s hand twitched as if ready to act. Lena herself found her heart rate picking up whenever a motorcycle roared by or a pedestrian paused too long on a corner near them. It was the reality they couldn’t quite escape: danger had crept into their lives, and neither could fully let down their guard.

They arrived at Lena’s penthouse building without incident. Kara insisted on walking Lena from the underground car park up to her door (not that Lena objected). As they stepped into the foyer of the penthouse, Kara’s gaze swept automatically across the entryway. Lena caught the motion and, with a small sigh, said, “I already double-checked the locks and alarms this morning, you know.”

Kara gave her a rueful half-smile. “Old habits. Sorry.”

Lena shook her head, slipping off her heels. “Don’t apologise. Honestly… it helps me feel safer, having you look out.” She hung her coat and set down her bag. “Though if this keeps up, I might have to hire you as my full-time security consultant,” she added lightly.

Kara’s face did something odd then — a flicker of discomfort, maybe — before she masked it with a chuckle. “I’ll work for food,” she quipped, patting her stomach. “Speaking of, are you hungry? We can order in, or I can scrounge something.”

Lena was hungry, but more so for Kara’s presence than food. Still, normalcy was therapeutic. “There’s some pasta in the pantry and plenty of things to throw in it,” Lena suggested. “Why don’t we cook? If we fail miserably, there’s always delivery.”

“Challenge accepted,” Kara grinned.

Chapter Text

Lena hadn’t realised how natural it felt to have Kara in her home until just then. After the long and harrowing day, the quiet domesticity was a soothing balm. True to her word, Kara had shown up at Lena’s flat right after work, armed with groceries and a determined smile. She’d insisted on driving Lena home herself – a protective streak thinly veiled as chivalry – and Lena hadn’t objected. Now, the clink of pans and the sizzle of garlic filled the penthouse kitchen, underscored by Kara’s gentle humming.

Lena leaned against the marble counter, barefoot and finally out of her work clothes, watching Kara move about her kitchen with ease. It was such a normal scene that one might have thought they were just any other couple making dinner together. And yet, Lena’s eyes tracked the subtle tells of Kara’s ever-present vigilance: how Kara’s gaze flickered to the balcony doors now and then, how she positioned herself so she could see the entrance hallway as they cooked. Lena pretended not to notice. Tonight, she wanted to give Kara a few hours of peace, free from the weight of threats and secrets – and perhaps give herself the same.

“Alright, chef, what’s next?” Kara asked lightly. She turned towards Lena with a wooden spoon in hand, a smudge of tomato sauce on the cuff of her rolled-up sleeve. Lena’s chest tightened at the sight – Kara looked so endearing like this, hair tied back in a loose ponytail, an apron hastily tied around her middle. Like she belongs here.

“I think the pasta’s nearly done,” Lena replied, stepping closer to peer into the bubbling pot on the stove. “How’s the sauce looking?”

“Incredibly red and suspiciously healthy,” Kara quipped. She lifted the spoon to offer Lena a taste. “Care to test?”

Lena blew on the sample and sipped. The richness of tomatoes and the bite of chilli danced on her tongue. “Mmm. Needs a touch more salt, but otherwise… not bad for two amateurs.”

Kara grinned, pleased. “I confess I might have binge-watched a few cooking shows in my downtime. Secret cooking skills: revealed.” She tossed a pinch of salt into the pan with a flourish.

Lena arched a brow in playful surprise. “The list of Kara Danvers factoids grows: intrepid writer, excellent driver, andcloset Food Network enthusiast. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Sing,” Kara answered immediately, laughing. “Trust me, you don’t want to hear me on karaoke night. I make up for it with enthusiasm, but not talent.”

Lena laughed with her. The sound felt easy and free, a welcome release. She realised she hadn’t truly laughed all day – not since the frightening discovery in her lab. But here in her kitchen, with Kara pretending to be a celebrity chef and pasta boiling over, the day’s troubles were finally at bay.

Soon enough, they were curled up on the living room sofa with two bowls of pasta and glasses of wine. London’s night skyline twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Kara had insisted on carrying everything over, batting away Lena’s offer to help with a gentle, “I’ve got it. You relax.” And so Lena did, tucking her legs under her and savouring the home-cooked meal. It was simple fare, but after the adrenaline and anxiety of the last twenty-four hours, it tasted like comfort.

“Mmh,” Lena murmured after a few bites. “Okay, this is actually delicious. I’m appointing you head chef, Kara Danvers.”

Kara did a tiny seated bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’d like to thank the academy… and the feral geese who guarded the herb garden I trespassed on to get this rosemary.”

Lena nearly choked on a sip of wine. “Feral geese? Do tell.”

With an expressive flourish of her fork, Kara launched into a dramatic retelling of an ill-fated “research trip” to a country village that ended in her accidentally wandering onto a farm. “I was looking for inspiration,” Kara said, eyes alight with mirth. “Instead I found myself face to face with a gaggle of geese who, I swear, had a thirst for blood. They chased me clear across a field. I dropped my notebook, my dignity… and apparently snagged some rosemary on the way out.”

Lena was giggling uncontrollably by the end. She set her half-finished bowl on the coffee table, lest she spill it while shaking with laughter. “That sounds like something out of a comedy sketch.”

“Oh, it was,” Kara affirmed, chuckling. “If anyone had filmed it, I’d be an internet meme by now. Goose-girl or something.”

Lena’s laughter gradually faded to a warm smile. She watched Kara finish the story with animated gestures, feeling a soft flutter in her chest. It struck Lena how happy she felt in this moment, despite everything. Kara had a way of bringing lightness even into the darkest day. For nearly an hour, Lena had managed not to think about surveillance bugs or threatening tycoons. She had felt normal. Safe.

As they cleared the dishes together, placing them in the sink to deal with later, a comfortable silence settled. The adrenaline of the day, dampened by food and wine, was seeping out of Lena’s limbs, leaving her pleasantly drowsy. Kara stood beside her at the sink, sleeves still rolled up, hands wet as she rinsed the plates. Lena handed her the last glass, and their fingers brushed – a small touch that sent a gentle warmth up Lena’s arm. Kara glanced at her and smiled, that soft, private smile that seemed reserved just for Lena.

Lena’s heart swelled. She longed to tug Kara close and lose herself in that warmth, maybe even lead her to the bedroom and finally cross that last uncertain line between them. She was fairly sure Kara wanted that too – the longing in Kara’s eyes was unmistakable. But something still held Kara back, some unspoken thing. Lena could sense it in the slight restraint of Kara’s touches, in the way Kara’s humour and affection sometimes veiled a deeper sadness. Kara had nearly let her guard down at the lab today when Lena pressed, only to deftly redirect the conversation. Lena hadn’t pushed further then; the timing had been all wrong. And perhaps… she was a little afraid of what lay behind those walls.

As Kara shut off the tap and started wiping her hands dry, Lena opened her mouth, a question on the tip of her tongue. Why do you keep saving me? she wanted to ask. What are you so afraid of? The words hovered, but in the quiet intimacy of the night, she found herself hesitating. Kara caught her gaze, head tilted in gentle inquiry. “You okay?” she asked softly.

Lena swallowed and mustered a small smile. “I’m fine. Just thinking.” She decided not to spoil this fragile peace with heavy questions. Not now. They were both exhausted, and emotionally raw. Instead, she reached out and took Kara’s hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. “Come on. It’s late. Let’s get some rest.”

Relief and something like gratitude flickered across Kara’s face. “Alright,” she agreed. She raised Lena’s hand to her lips unexpectedly and pressed a tender kiss to the back of it. “Bedtime.”

They tidied up the last few things and switched off the lights before making their way to the bedroom. Inside, the city’s glow filtered through the edges of the curtains Lena had drawn earlier, casting faint silver patterns on the walls. Kara hesitated by the doorway, as if unsure of her place, until Lena gently urged, “Stay with me?” repeating the question she’d asked on that previous fearful night.

“Of course,” Kara murmured. There was no protest this time, only a quiet earnestness.

They changed into sleepwear with their backs politely turned – a shyness that was endearing and a touch frustrating to Lena, given how deeply she wanted to feel Kara’s skin against hers. But she respected Kara’s pace. When they finally slipped under the duvet, both in soft cotton pyjamas, they naturally gravitated towards each other. Lena nestled into Kara’s side, and Kara’s arm encircled her shoulders, drawing her close.

For a while they lay there in the darkness, simply breathing together. Lena listened to the steady thump of Kara’s heart under her ear and felt a profound contentment mingled with worry. She thought Kara might have fallen asleep when a whisper drifted down to her: “Thank you, Lena.” Kara’s voice was hushed, almost fragile.

Lena shifted up just enough to see Kara’s face, illuminated softly by the night. “For what?”

“For… this. Letting me be here. Letting me…” Kara trailed off, her expression caught between happiness and sorrow. “I’ve never had anything quite like this.”

Lena’s throat tightened. She reached up and gently brushed a strand of golden hair off Kara’s forehead. “You’re here because you belong here, Kara. I want you here.”

Kara closed her eyes, a faint tremble in her exhale. “I want to be here, too. More than anything.” She fell silent, and Lena sensed unsaid words quivering on her lips. But instead of speaking, Kara dipped her head and kissed Lena’s brow. “Goodnight, Lena,” she whispered.

“Goodnight,” Lena replied softly, snuggling back down. Wrapped in Kara’s arms, the tension of the day finally released its hold on her. Within minutes, she felt herself drifting, the warmth of Kara’s body lulling her to sleep.

Outside, the city carried on, oblivious to the quiet sanctuary the two women had found in each other.

Lena didn’t know what time it was when a violent jolt shuddered through the bed, yanking her from sleep. She woke to confusion and darkness, her heart stuttering in alarm. It took her a second to realise the disturbance hadn’t come from outside – it was Kara.

Kara was beside her, tangled in the duvet, and thrashing. A small, choked sound – a whimper or a plea – escaped Kara’s lips, and Lena’s blood ran cold at the anguish in it. Moonlight had crept in between the curtains now, and by its dim glow Lena could see Kara’s face knotted in distress, eyes scrunched shut, a sheen of sweat on her brow.

She was having a nightmare. A bad one.

“Kara,” Lena whispered, pushing herself upright. The covers slipped off her shoulders as she turned towards the writhing figure. Kara’s hand suddenly flung out, as if warding off some unseen threat, and Lena narrowly caught a fist to her arm. She’s going to hurt herself.

Lena’s pulse pounded. She reached out carefully and laid a hand on Kara’s shoulder – the same shoulder that bore her scar. Kara flinched violently at the contact, a strangled “No—!” tearing from her throat, raw and pained. Lena’s chest ached at the sound.

“It’s okay… you’re okay,” Lena murmured, fighting to keep her voice calm though her heart was racing. She gave Kara’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Kara, wake up. It’s just a dream. Wake up.”

For a terrifying moment, Kara didn’t rouse. Lena tried again, firmer this time, placing her palm against Kara’s clammy cheek. “Kara, love, wake up,” she urged.

At the endearment – the first time Lena had spoken it aloud – Kara’s eyes flew open. She gasped and bolted upright, knocking Lena’s hand away as she did. Lena scrambled back slightly, hands raised in a calming gesture. Kara’s eyes were wide, wild with panic, the blue of them almost lost in darkness. She stared unseeingly ahead, chest heaving.

“Kara,” Lena said softly. She desperately wanted to take Kara into her arms, but she held back, unsure if Kara was fully out of the nightmare’s grasp. “It’s me. It was a dream. You’re safe.”

Kara’s head snapped towards the sound of Lena’s voice. Lena watched as recognition slowly dawned in those stormy eyes. Kara blinked, then looked around the shadowed bedroom – at the soft grey walls, the window, the two of them on the bed. Reality reasserted itself by degrees.

“Lena…” Kara croaked, her voice ravaged. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, as if stifling a sob or perhaps a scream. “Oh God.”

Lena couldn’t hold back any longer. She reached out and wrapped Kara in a tight hug, pulling her close. Kara was shaking, fine tremors coursing through her frame. At first she went stiff in Lena’s embrace, but then she yielded, clutching Lena to her as if she might drown otherwise. Lena felt Kara bury her face in her shoulder, hot tears seeping through the thin material of Lena’s sleep shirt.

“Shh, I’m here,” Lena whispered, running a soothing hand down Kara’s back. Kara’s skin was damp with sweat and quivering under her touch. “It’s alright. It was just a nightmare.”

Kara let out a broken sound, half sob, half bitter laugh. “Just a nightmare,” she echoed hollowly, her voice muffled against Lena’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Lena said firmly. She rocked them gently, her chin resting atop Kara’s head. Her own heart was still hammering from the scare, but her concern for Kara drowned out all else. She had never seen Kara like this – so vulnerable, so shaken. It made her want to track down every demon in Kara’s life and destroy them so Kara would never have to suffer again.

They stayed entwined for a long minute, the silence punctuated only by Kara’s ragged breathing and an occasional hitch of her breath as she fought for control. Lena continued to stroke Kara’s back and hair, whispering whatever comforting nonsense came to mind: “It’s okay… I’ve got you… you’re safe with me.” The same words Kara had given her on nights of panic, Lena now returned tenfold, pouring all the reassurance she could muster into her embrace.

Gradually, Kara’s breathing evened, the tension in her muscles loosening a bit. Lena felt when Kara’s grip on her loosened, and she pulled back enough to see Kara’s face. Tears tracked down Kara’s cheeks. In the pale light, she looked younger, stripped of her usual composure. It broke Lena’s heart. Gently, Lena brushed Kara’s tears away with her thumbs. “Do you want some water?” she asked softly.

Kara nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes… please.” Her voice was barely audible.

Lena slipped off the bed and padded to the bathroom. She returned with a glass of cool water and handed it to Kara, who had swung her legs over the side of the bed and was sitting on the edge. Kara’s hands still shook so badly that the water sloshed. Lena steadied Kara’s grip with her own. Kara gave her a grateful, embarrassed half-smile and sipped slowly.

In the quiet that followed, Lena sat beside Kara, one hand rubbing soothing circles between Kara’s shoulder blades. She didn’t rush Kara to speak, sensing the fragility of the moment. Instead, Lena studied the faint city glow on the bedroom carpet and tried to calm her own nerves. She could still feel the rapid thump of her heart – not from fear for herself, but from the adrenaline of waking to someone she cared about in distress.

After a few more sips, Kara inhaled deeply and set the half-empty glass on the nightstand. “Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t look at Lena, instead fixing her gaze on her own lap, where her fingers were twisting the bedsheet. “I woke you. I’m sorry.”

“Kara.” Lena edged closer until their thighs touched. “Don’t be sorry. I’m only worried about you.” She reached and gently laid her hand over Kara’s restless fingers, stilling them. Even in the dimness, she could see Kara’s knuckles were white. How much terror was she holding inside right now?

Kara closed her eyes, ashamed. “This is why…” She swallowed hard. “This is why I usually don’t share a bed with anyone. I didn’t want… this.” She gestured vaguely, her hand trembling in Lena’s grasp. “Did I frighten you?”

The tentative, almost childlike tone of the question made Lena’s chest constrict. “You startled me, yes,” she answered honestly. “But only because I was worried something was hurting you.” Lena tightened her hold on Kara’s hand. “Kara, you never have to apologise for having a nightmare. God knows I have my share of them.”

Kara finally turned her head to meet Lena’s eyes. “Not like mine.” A bitter note laced her voice. “I… scream, and thrash. I have hurt people before—” She broke off, jaw clenching. “It’s been a long time since I let myself fall asleep next to someone. I thought… I hoped I wouldn’t have one tonight.”

Understanding dawned on Lena: this was the trauma Kara had hinted at, the secret that kept her at a careful distance. Kara had been holding herself back even as their relationship grew, likely out of fear of exactly this scenario. It had nothing to do with lack of desire or trust in Lena – and everything to do with Kara’s own pain.

Lena’s eyes stung. She reached up and cupped Kara’s cheek, feeling the dampness of tears still there. “You were afraid of having a nightmare in front of me,” she said quietly. It wasn’t truly a question.

Kara nodded, a jerky motion. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. Or to… accidentally hurt you if I lashed out. I’d never forgive myself.” Her voice broke on the last sentence.

“Oh, Kara.” Lena’s thumb caressed Kara’s cheekbone. “I’m not made of glass. I can handle a few flailing arms.” She tried for a gentle tease, but her voice wavered with emotion. “You don’t have to protect me from yourself. I’m not afraid of you – not even a little bit. I’m only afraid for you.”

A new gloss of tears filled Kara’s eyes at that, and she covered the hand Lena had on her cheek with her own, pressing into its warmth. “You should be afraid of me,” she said bitterly. “I’m a walking mess of nightmares and—and violence.”

Lena shook her head, emphatic. “No. You’re a survivor of something horrible, that’s all. And you carry scars.” Her gaze flickered to Kara’s right shoulder, remembering how Kara always guarded it. “We all carry scars, Kara. Some just run deeper.”

At the word scars, Kara’s face crumpled subtly, and Lena knew she’d hit upon the heart of it. The phantom wounds of Kara’s past still bled in her dreams. Lena’s own experiences with betrayal and loss haunted her in quieter ways, but Kara’s trauma was clearly seared into her very flesh and psyche.

They sat in silence for a moment, hands clasped, foreheads nearly touching. Finally Lena spoke, her voice tender but determined. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Kara let out a trembling breath. She didn’t respond at once. Her eyes drifted past Lena, unfocused, as if seeing some distant memory. For a heartbeat, Lena worried she’d pushed too far. But then Kara gave the tiniest nod.

“It might help you understand me… a little,” Kara murmured. “And after everything you told me about yourself… it’s only fair.”

Lena gently brushed back a strand of Kara’s hair that clung to the sweat on her temple. “Only share what you’re comfortable with. I’m not keeping score.”

Kara managed a shadow of a smile, appreciative of the escape route. But she chose not to take it. Instead, she drew a shaky breath and began, “About seven years ago, I was working abroad… doing some writing.”

Lena shifted to sit up properly, still holding one of Kara’s hands between both of hers. She sensed Kara might need a little space to speak, so she inched back just enough to give Kara room to breathe, without breaking the reassuring contact.

“I was embedded with a group… of soldiers, actually,” Kara continued haltingly. Her gaze flickered to Lena’s, gauging her reaction. “It was meant to be a sort of immersive journalism piece. I never published it in the end,” she added wryly.

Embedded with soldiers. Lena’s mind caught that detail and filed it away amid a flurry of questions. Kara had never mentioned doing war correspondence or anything of the sort, but it wasn’t implausible for a courageous young journalist. Still, the idea of Kara – sweet, empathetic Kara – in a war zone made Lena’s stomach twist. She nodded slowly, encouraging Kara to go on.

“There was… an attack,” Kara said, her voice flattening as she forced out the words. “An ambush. The unit I was with… they didn’t make it out.” She stared down at her lap, lashes glistening. “I did. Barely.”

Lena’s heart constricted. She recalled Kara’s earlier evasions about her past and understood now why she had been so guarded. Kara had lived through a massacre. God. Lena remained quiet, letting Kara speak at her own pace.

“I was injured,” Kara continued softly. Almost unconsciously, her free hand drifted to her right shoulder, rubbing it. “Shot here.” She gave a hollow little laugh. “Sometimes I still feel it ache, even though it’s healed. Phantom pain.”

Lena’s eyes followed Kara’s hand. In the dim light, she could just make out the faint outline of raised scar tissue under Kara’s thin cotton top – an inch or two of ridged skin above her shoulder blade. Lena felt a tear slip down her cheek. She’s been carrying this all alone.

Wordlessly, Lena lifted her own hand and rested it atop Kara’s where it pressed to that old wound. Kara stilled at the touch, and Lena felt the rapid thrum of Kara’s pulse in her wrist. “I’m so sorry,” Lena whispered, voice thick. “No one that young should have gone through something like that.” Kara would have been in her mid-twenties at the time – likely just a year or two out of university, full of idealism. The thought of that bright spirit plunged into violence and left traumatized and scarred…it was almost too much to bear.

Kara blinked rapidly, a couple of tears escaping despite her obvious effort to contain them. “It… broke something in me,” she confessed, barely audible. “For a long time. I stopped writing. I stopped a lot of things. I disappeared.” She swallowed. “It took time, and help, to come back from that. I’m… still coming back, I think.”

“Oh, Kara.” Lena couldn’t hold back any longer. She moved without thinking, shifting onto her knees on the mattress and wrapping Kara in her arms once more. But this time it was a different kind of embrace: one arm securely around Kara’s back and the other hand cradling the back of Kara’s head, Lena drew her down until Kara’s forehead rested against Lena’s collarbone. Kara came willingly, her hands grasping Lena’s waist as if anchoring herself.

They stayed like that in silence for a moment, Lena gently rocking them. She could feel the damp of Kara’s quiet tears against her skin. Lena closed her eyes, her own tears slipping free into Kara’s hair. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured into the top of Kara’s head. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

Kara shuddered with a suppressed sob. “I haven’t talked about it in… years,” she admitted. “Even Alex – my sister – we don’t really talk about it. She was there for the aftermath, but… I never gave her details. I thought if I locked it away, maybe I could pretend it never happened.”

Lena’s hand stroked slowly down Kara’s hair. “We both know pretending only works for so long,” she said gently. She thought of her own buried traumas, the lonely nights spent pretending she didn’t need anyone. “Eventually the ghosts find a way out.”

Kara nodded against her. After a moment, she lifted her head, and Lena loosened her embrace enough to look at her properly. Kara’s eyes were red-rimmed, face wet, but the taut mask she often wore had fallen away. What remained was achingly open, painfully human. Lena reached up to wipe Kara’s cheeks. In the near-dark, they gazed at one another with an intimacy that transcended words.

“This… is why I’m so protective,” Kara said at last, voice trembling with emotion. “Why I reacted the way I did when I saw you in danger, why I can’t just stand by if someone threatens you. I made a promise to myself after that tragedy that if I was ever in a position to stop something like it happening again, I would. I will. I couldn’t save them,” – her voice hitched – “but I can save you.”

A delicate sob broke from Lena’s throat then. She hadn’t wanted to cry, to add to Kara’s burden, but her tears came in a hot rush. The depth of Kara’s devotion, forged in grief and guilt, was staggering. Lena felt both unworthy of it and fiercely determined to be worthy. She brushed a tear from the corner of Kara’s eye with her thumb. “You shouldn’t have to carry that alone,” she whispered, echoing Kara’s own words to her from nights before. How many times had Kara told Lena she wasn’t alone? Lena wanted to return that gift a hundredfold. “Kara… you have me now. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Kara’s breath caught. She closed her eyes as if in pain, but Lena knew it was the pain of hope, of relief trying to break through years of isolation. “I’m used to carrying it,” Kara said softly. Then she corrected herself: “I was used to it. You… you make me want to let someone in again. To not be alone with it.”

Lena’s heart swelled even as it cracked. She realised fully in that moment just how much trust Kara was placing in her by sharing these pieces of her soul. And how much love must be underpinning Kara’s actions – because yes, Lena recognised it now for what it was. Love, in the quiet, unspoken form they’d been exchanging for weeks. In each act of care and sacrifice.

And Lena felt it too – had felt it for some time, perhaps, but had been too afraid to name it. It surged up now, tidal and undeniable. With a tender smile through her tears, Lena slid her hand into Kara’s damp hair and guided Kara’s head down until their foreheads met. “I’m here,” Lena breathed, barely more than a hush. It was a promise, simple and profound.

Kara opened her eyes, inches from Lena’s own. In the faint light, blue met green with aching sincerity. Lena could see fresh tears gathering on Kara’s lashes, but these were different – the kind that form when the heart is overwhelmed by something unexpectedly gentle. Kara’s hands moved from Lena’s waist to cup her face instead. “Lena,” she whispered, voice reverent and awed, as if she couldn’t quite believe Lena was real.

Lena answered by closing the small gap between their lips. She kissed Kara with all the softness she possessed, intending it as comfort and solidarity. Kara responded instantly, a shaky exhale through her nose as she pressed into the kiss. It was gentle, at first – a meeting of salt-tinged lips, a silent exchange of I understand and you’re not alone.

But soon that gentleness kindled into something more urgent. The emotional nakedness of the moment fanned long-banked flames between them. Kara’s lips found new firmness, new hunger, seeking Lena’s again and again as if desperate to affirm the life pulsing in both of them. Lena matched her fervour, a quiet whimper escaping when Kara’s tongue brushed hers. The taste of tears mixed with the taste of Kara, and Lena realised she was trembling – whether from the aftershocks of adrenaline or the onrush of desire, she couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.

Kara’s hands began to roam, sliding back into Lena’s hair, then tracing down the curve of her neck. Lena felt a flood of heat as Kara’s lips left hers to trail along her jaw, down to the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. She gasped softly, tilting her head to give Kara better access. The careful restraint Kara usually exercised around her was slipping; Lena could feel it in the way Kara pulled her closer, one arm encircling her lower back.

They manoeuvred onto the bed properly, rising from their perch on the edge and moving towards the centre. In their haste to be closer, Kara’s knee bumped the nightstand. The water glass rattled. Both women huffed a soft, breathless laugh against each other’s lips at their own clumsiness.

“Maybe— maybe we should lie down,” Lena whispered, smiling against Kara’s mouth.

“Mm, good plan,” Kara murmured, pressing one more quick kiss to Lena’s lips before shifting. Lena scooted back onto the mattress and Kara followed, the covers tangling around them. With a shy boldness, Lena tugged at the hem of Kara’s camisole – the pyjama top she’d borrowed again – untucking it from her waistband. Kara helped, peeling it off in one swift motion and tossing it aside. The sight of Kara in just a black cotton bra above her pyjama trousers made Lena’s breath catch. Silvery light traced the toned lines of Kara’s arms and the faint freckles across her collarbones. Lena let her fingertips drift over Kara’s shoulders, pausing over the raised scar tissue where the bullet had once torn through.

Their eyes met, a silent question passing between them: Is this okay? Kara answered by leaning in to kiss Lena deeply, her hands finding the hem of Lena’s own top. In seconds, Lena’s vest was gone, joining Kara’s on the floor. A slight chill kissed Lena’s bare skin, but Kara’s body heat soon chased it away as they came together, skin to skin at last. Lena sighed into the kiss as the softness of Kara’s bare midriff met hers, warm and smooth.

Kara’s weight gently bore Lena down to the mattress. Lena welcomed it, parting her legs so Kara could settle between them. The slow, deliberate slide of their bodies aligning drew a low moan from Lena’s throat. She combed her fingers through Kara’s loose hair, savouring the silken texture and the way Kara shivered when Lena’s nails grazed her scalp.

But as Lena arched up to meet Kara’s hips, Kara suddenly hissed in pain and broke the kiss. Her face twisted briefly. She brought a hand to her right shoulder, attempting to roll it.

Lena, breathless and concerned, immediately cupped Kara’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Kara grimaced apologetically. “My shoulder… I must have pulled it a bit.” She gave a frustrated little laugh. “Ironically, I think flailing around earlier upset it.”

Lena’s eyes filled with concern. Of course – Kara’s old wound. Between the nightmare and now their passionate movements, the muscle was probably protesting. “We can stop,” Lena said at once, brushing a strand of hair off Kara’s cheek. “We don’t have to do this now. I don’t want you in pain.”

Fear flashed in Kara’s expression – fear that Lena might really call this off. She quickly shook her head. “No, please… I want this. I want you.” Her fingers stroked Lena’s cheek. “It’s just a twinge. I promise I’m fine.”

But Lena wasn’t convinced; she’d seen the wince. With tenderness, she rolled Kara off of her and onto her back. Kara looked poised to protest until Lena knelt beside her and placed gentle hands on her sore shoulder. “Let me,” Lena whispered. “Just for a minute.”

Kara yielded, biting her lip as Lena’s fingers began to massage the tight knots around the scar. Lena worked carefully, mindful of the damage that lay beneath the skin. Through the thin strap of Kara’s bra and into the firm muscle around it, Lena’s fingers traced and kneaded. She felt the ropey tension there and the slightly cooler texture of scar tissue. Kara’s eyes fluttered shut, a breath escaping her lips that sounded like relief.

Neither spoke. In that silence, Lena poured every ounce of love and care she felt into her touch. Her hands said what she couldn’t articulate in words: I cherish you – every damaged, healing part of you. The tension slowly unwound under her ministrations. Kara’s breathing evened out, her body relaxing back against the mattress. By the time Lena finished with a final gentle press, Kara’s face had lost its pinched look of pain, replaced by wonder.

Kara lifted Lena’s hand from her shoulder and brought it to her lips, kissing Lena’s palm. “Thank you,” she murmured, eyes shining.

Lena’s heart did a somersault. In reply, she leaned down and pressed her lips to Kara’s shoulder, right above the place of her scar. It was a feather-light kiss, reverent and adoring. She felt Kara’s sharp inhale and the way Kara’s fingers threaded through her hair, not to pull her away but to hold her there a moment, as if overwhelmed.

When Lena finally raised her head, Kara’s gaze caught hers. The naked emotion there made Lena’s pulse quicken all over again – gratitude, desire, and something unmistakably like devotion. Kara’s strength returned with a suddenness that made Lena yelp in surprise as Kara tugged her down fully onto the bed. In one fluid motion, Kara rolled, guiding Lena beneath her. Lena sank into the pillows with Kara hovering over her, the golden curtain of Kara’s hair falling around them.

This time, Kara’s kiss was slow and deep. Lena opened herself to it, letting the last of their hesitation fall away. They had laid themselves bare in words; now they would do so in every other way.

A languid heat built between them as gentle caresses turned urgent. Garments slipped off or were peeled away: Lena’s remaining clothes and Kara’s were lost to the dark floor in turn. Lena marvelled at each new expanse of Kara’s body revealed – the subtle play of muscle in her back, the curve of her hips, the softness of her breasts against Lena’s own. She traced Kara’s form with worshipful hands, eliciting gasps and shivers. And Kara explored Lena with equal reverence, as if memorising every dip and plane of her. When Kara’s fingers trailed down Lena’s side, Lena felt goosebumps rise in their wake.

They moved unhurriedly, learning each other’s pleasure points, exchanging breathless little laughs as they discovered what made the other arch or sigh. Lena felt drunk on the sensation of Kara’s lips around her nipple, of Kara’s thigh pressed between her own. She found herself whispering Kara’s name like a mantra, and Kara answered with whispers of Lena’s – Lena, beautiful… Lena. Each quiet murmur lit Lena from within; no lover had ever made her feel so seen, so adored.

When at last Kara’s hand slipped between Lena’s thighs and Lena guided Kara’s into her own, they crossed the final threshold together. A soft cry fell from Lena’s lips as Kara entered her with exquisite care, and she felt Kara tremble as Lena returned the intimate touch in kind. Foreheads pressed together, they moved in a slow, shared rhythm – a dance as old as time, made entirely new by the depth of their connection. Lena clung to Kara’s shoulders as waves of sensation built, tears gathering in her eyes at the sheer emotion of it.

“It’s okay,” Kara whispered, voice shaking as she felt Lena’s tears on her cheek. “Me too… me too.” Lena realised Kara was crying as well, even as a blissful smile tugged at her lips. In Kara’s eyes, Lena saw everything they couldn’t speak aloud: I love you. I need you. I’m yours.

Lena answered with her body, meeting Kara’s gentle thrusts, curling her fingers just so – drawing out Kara’s pleasure alongside her own. Their mouths met in a messy, desperate kiss as the tension coiled tighter within them both. Lena’s world narrowed to the sensation of Kara around her and inside her, to Kara’s uneven breaths and the tiny gasps Kara made against her lips. It was almost too much to hold, this feeling – like their very souls were entwining.

With a final, shuddering crest, ecstasy washed through them. Lena muffled her cry in Kara’s shoulder as she came, her whole body trembling. She felt Kara’s rhythm falter and then still as Kara found her release an instant after, a low moan vibrating against Lena’s neck. They clung together through it, riding out wave after wave of quivering bliss until both were utterly spent.

In the aftermath, they remained entangled, neither willing nor able to separate more than an inch. Kara eventually shifted just enough to collapse at Lena’s side, though one leg was still draped over Lena’s and her arm immediately circled Lena’s waist. Both of them were breathing hard, skin slick with a sheen of sweat. Lena’s mind floated, hazy and sated, as she traced idle patterns on Kara’s back and tried to catch her breath.

Not a single word passed between them for a long while. None were needed as they slowly came down from that soaring height. Kara’s face was nestled in the crook of Lena’s neck, her fingers drawing soft shapes along Lena’s hipbone. Lena stared up at the ceiling in disbelief and contentment. She could feel Kara’s heartbeat gradually slowing against her ribs, a steady comforting thump.

Eventually, Lena became aware of the gentle tick of the heating system, of the muffled city sounds beyond their cocoon. She tilted her head to look at Kara. Kara had propped herself up just enough to gaze at Lena, chin resting on a hand. Her blonde hair was a wild halo, her lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed rosily. She looked thoroughly unravelled – and utterly beautiful. Lena felt warmth flood her chest, a happiness so acute it was almost painful.

“What?” Lena asked softly, realising Kara had been watching her for some time.

Kara’s lips curved into a tender, slightly bashful smile. “Nothing. Just… you.” She brushed the pad of her thumb over Lena’s cheek, where a few drying tears had left a salty trail. “You’re stunning.”

Lena felt herself blush, a slow heat blooming under her skin. In all her life, she could not recall a moment she’d ever felt as close to another person as she did now with Kara. It was terrifying in its vulnerability – and exhilarating. “So are you,” she replied, lifting Kara’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as you just now.”

Kara’s smile widened, then turned mischievous. “Must be the lighting,” she quipped modestly, glancing at the faint grey light sneaking around the curtains.

Lena huffed a soft laugh and lightly smacked Kara’s arm. “Take the compliment, you impossible woman.”

“As you wish.” Kara laughed, a low, throaty sound of pure contentment. The bed shifted as she manoeuvred herself, diving under the duvet and re-emerging to tug it securely around both of them. “Before we catch a chill,” she explained as Lena raised an amused eyebrow. In truth, the night air was cool on their bare skin now that the heat of passion had ebbed. Lena gratefully snuggled under the covers, and Kara settled on her back, opening her arms. Lena went willingly into the embrace, resting her head on Kara’s chest.

A profound peace fell over them. Lena listened to the steady rhythm of Kara’s heart beneath her ear and thought, For the first time in ages, I’m not afraid. Here, in Kara’s arms, the world felt right, no matter what dangers lurked beyond. She sighed in absolute contentment and felt Kara’s hand stroke languidly up and down her arm.

Kara pressed a kiss into Lena’s hair. “That was…” She gave a soft, breathy laugh. “I have no words.”

Lena smiled against Kara’s skin. “For once,” she teased gently, echoing Kara’s occasional loquaciousness.

“Mmm,” Kara agreed, chuckling. She tilted Lena’s chin up and stole another quick kiss, this one sweet and languid. When they parted, Kara’s gaze was soft, almost dreamy.

They exchanged a few more lazy kisses, until a wave of pleasant exhaustion began to pull at them. Lena could feel Kara’s eyelids growing heavy against her temple, and her own were not far behind. She shifted slightly, and Kara murmured a protest, tugging the duvet higher around them and nuzzling closer as if to say stay.

“In case we drift off,” Kara murmured drowsily, “let’s get comfortable.” She urged Lena fully beneath the duvet, and they adjusted their limbs accordingly: Lena’s head still on Kara’s chest, Kara’s arm securely around Lena’s shoulders, Lena’s leg hooked over Kara’s. They fit together naturally, a tangle of warmth.

Silence settled again, but Lena had one last thought she needed to voice while courage and closeness held her. “Kara?” she whispered.

“Yes, love?” Kara’s voice was thick with impending sleep, but attentive. The endearment slipped out so easily, setting Lena’s heart fluttering.

Lena hesitated a beat, then spoke into the quiet dark, her hand splayed over Kara’s heart. “No more apologising for being in my life, alright? Not for nightmares, not for anything. I want you here. However you are, scars and all. Don’t ever think I don’t.”

Kara’s embrace tightened, the muscles of her arm flexing against Lena’s back. “I promise,” she said, a touch choked. “I want to be here more than anything.” The conviction in her voice was as strong as steel.

Contentment coursed through Lena. She turned her face up and Kara met her halfway for a lingering kiss to seal that promise. When they eased apart, Lena felt brave enough for one more gentle demand. “Just… promise me one thing?”

“Hm?” Kara’s fingertips idly traced patterns on Lena’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

“That you won’t lie to me,” Lena whispered. “Even about little things. If you burn the pasta or secretly hate my favourite film, or—” her tone grew softer, “—if something’s hurting you. Promise me you’ll tell me. I’ve had enough lies in my life.”

She tried to keep it light, but the plea behind her words was real. Lena had been lied to by people who supposedly loved her; she couldn’t bear the idea of deception creeping into this precious thing with Kara. In Kara she wanted truth, no matter how hard.

Under her ear, Kara’s heartbeat faltered. Lena sensed Kara go very still. A heavy pause followed, and Lena immediately regretted bringing it up now – in this moment of hard-won peace. She was about to retract it, to say never mind, when Kara exhaled slowly.

“I promise to try to always be honest with you,” Kara said quietly. There was careful truth in her statement, if not absolutism. Lena noticed the nuance – try – but she also understood that Kara was doing her best to be truthful without overpromising. And given what Kara was holding back (Lena wasn’t naive enough to think tonight’s revelations covered everything), she would take it. For now.

Still, Kara seemed to fear she’d upset Lena. She quickly added, with a feeble laugh, “The only thing I might lie about is if I claim I can cook better than you. Because clearly, you’re the head chef here.”

Lena huffed a soft laugh, accepting the redirection. “Clearly,” she played along, giving Kara’s side a gentle pinch.

A relieved chuckle escaped Kara, and the tension diffused. They both knew the topic of lies wasn’t truly settled, but by unspoken agreement, they set it aside. Tonight was too precious to tarnish with the dark spectres of doubt. Lena nestled closer, letting her eyelids drift shut as Kara’s hand resumed its comforting petting along her arm.

In the shelter of Kara’s arms, Lena felt as safe as she had that first night Kara held her through tears – safer, even, now that so many of the walls between them had come down. The fear of Edge, of stalkers and unknown spies, had receded to the corners of her mind. In its place was the fear of a different fault line: that of secrets still unspoken. Lena knew, deep down, that there was more to Kara’s story. Hints and inconsistencies still lingered. But she also knew, just as deeply, that Kara cared for her – perhaps even loved her – in a way no one else ever had.

That was what Lena chose to hold onto as her mind grew fuzzy with impending sleep. She would not let paranoia or doubt ruin this fragile happiness. Not yet. Kara’s warmth was lulling her, the steady rise and fall of Kara’s chest like waves on a shore, guiding her out of wakefulness.

Just before Lena succumbed to sleep, she heard Kara whisper, so faintly it might have been Lena’s own thought, “I wish I could be everything you believe I am.” The words were filled with aching sincerity.

Lena, half-dreaming, responded without opening her eyes. “You already are, Kara,” she murmured, tightening her arm around Kara’s middle.

She felt Kara startle slightly, surprised Lena had heard. Then a tender kiss was placed on Lena’s temple. “Sleep, Lena. I’m watching over you,” Kara breathed.

With that soft assurance enveloping her, Lena finally drifted off. The last sensation she knew was Kara’s heartbeat under her hand and Kara’s breath in her hair.

Kara woke just after dawn, the sky outside a muted indigo with the first hints of amber at the horizon. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was. She blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, the high thread-count sheets against her bare skin, and then the events of the night came rushing back in a warm tide. Lena was curled against her, still peacefully asleep, one arm thrown across Kara’s middle as if even in dreams she refused to let Kara go.

Kara remained very still, not wanting to disturb the sleeping woman at her side. Instead, she let herself feel: Lena’s gentle weight draped half over her, the tickle of Lena’s dark hair against her collarbone, the slow puffs of Lena’s breath fanning across her neck. It felt at once wonderfully foreign and deeply right. Kara couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. This was what she had convinced herself she would never have – what she didn’t deserve. And yet, here Lena was, tucked into her arms as if she belonged there.

A swell of emotion rose in Kara’s chest. The previous night’s intimacy had been more than sex or comfort; it had been a kind of salvation. Kara had offered up her most broken pieces and Lena had cradled them with fierce, unconditional care. The way Lena looked at her… as if Kara were something good, something worthy of love despite all the lies and darkness… It almost hurt to think about. A tiny ache, lodged beneath Kara’s breastbone, pulsed with familiar guilt.

Kara carefully brushed a strand of Lena’s hair away from her face, fingertips grazing Lena’s cheek. Lena made a soft noise and snuggled closer, her nude form pressing even tighter to Kara’s side. Kara bit back a groan at the divine sensation – even now, after all they’d shared through the night, the touch of Lena’s body stirred longing in her. Focus, she chided herself gently, though she couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to Lena’s forehead. Lena smiled faintly in her sleep.

The guilt-ache twisted. Kara’s eyes burned, a tear threatening as she considered the perfection of this moment and the fragility of it. In the weak dawn light, Kara allowed herself to face the truth she’d been holding at bay: this happiness was built on borrowed time. She had lied to Lena, by omission if not outright. And she would have to continue lying, for a while longer. Lena believed Kara to be a kind, if haunted, novelist who had stumbled into her life by chance. Lena didn’t know that Kara had entered her life with deliberate deception, that protecting Lena was not just a spontaneous act of a good Samaritan but a mission Kara had been hired to carry out.

Would Lena still look at her with such love in her eyes if she knew that? Kara doubted it. The thought carved a hollow in her heart. She remembered Lena’s sleepy words – “You already are [everything you think I believe].” Lena had such faith in her, even after seeing Kara’s flaws and cracks. But that faith was built on an image Kara had carefully constructed. You don’t even know who I am, Kara thought sadly, brushing her thumb over Lena’s shoulder. Not the whole of me.

She wished, more than anything, that she could be exactly who Lena thought she was – no more secrets, no false identities. Just Kara. If only Jack hadn’t recruited her for this job… if only she had met Lena in some other way, a simple chance meeting in a coffee shop that was genuine, not orchestrated. Would they have found each other anyway? Kara liked to think so. Some part of her felt that she and Lena were two meteors destined to collide, mission or no mission. But reality was messier.

Kara sighed softly, turning her head to gaze at the window where early light was beginning to glow at the edges of the curtain. She knew she would have to slip out of bed soon – she needed to check in with Alex, to update the DEO on last night’s bug (the very thought made her cringe; how could she possibly relay this night in that report?), and to see if there were developments with Barr and Edge. But right now, she couldn’t bring herself to move. This bubble of time, lying next to Lena in the hush of morning, felt too sacred to break.

She let her mind wander over the shape of the coming days. How much longer could this lie hold? Alex had urged her to hold the line, to keep her cover just a bit longer. Kara had promised to try. But after last night, that prospect felt infinitely more complicated. She and Lena had crossed a threshold of intimacy that left Kara’s heart wide open – and her conscience raw.

One thing Kara knew for certain: she didn’t want last night to be a one-time thing. The depth of emotion she’d experienced – the love that had flowed between them – it was something she’d thought lost to her forever. Now that she’d felt it, she couldn’t imagine letting it go. In the silent dawn, Kara allowed herself to think treasonous thoughts: maybe, somehow, she could have this. Have Lena. Perhaps, once the threat was neutralised and the truth inevitably came out, Lena would understand that Kara’s intentions had always been pure, that she truly cared and never meant harm. Perhaps love would be enough to bridge that canyon of betrayal.

Do I even deserve that chance? Kara wondered. She closed her eyes, exhaling quietly. It felt wrong to be scheming for a happy ending when she was still actively deceiving Lena about who she was. Lena, who hated lies, who had extracted that promise of honesty… Kara had given her a half-truth at best. “I promise to try to be honest.” It was all Kara could offer without confessing everything on the spot. And oh, how she had nearly broken and done just that – watching Lena sleep now, content and safe, Kara had to fight the urge to wake her just to say I’m not who you think I am… I’m so afraid of losing you when you find out.

A solitary tear slipped from the corner of Kara’s eye. She quickly wiped it away with the heel of her free hand, unwilling to let sadness dominate this morning. She should be happy – last night had been one of the best nights of her life. And deep down, she was happy, profoundly so. The fear and guilt were just unwelcome companions to that happiness, whispering that it might be snatched away.

Kara’s gentle movements must have stirred Lena, because she felt Lena shift and a soft sigh escape her lips. Kara immediately smoothed her expression and looked down. Sure enough, Lena’s eyes were fluttering open, those emerald irises hazy with sleep.

“Good morning,” Lena mumbled, her voice husky. She blinked up at Kara, a slow smile blooming as memory replaced morning confusion.

Kara’s heart did a little flip at that smile directed at her. She’s happy, Kara realised, with no small wonder. Lena looked happy to wake up in her arms. Kara couldn’t help but smile back. “Morning, beautiful,” she whispered, brushing a kiss to Lena’s forehead.

Lena hummed in appreciation and shifted, propping her chin on Kara’s chest to properly study her face. “Were you up long?”

“Not really,” Kara lied softly. In truth, she’d been awake for a little while, but Lena didn’t need to know she’d been brooding. Kara reached to tuck Lena’s hair behind her ear. “How did you sleep?”

Lena’s gaze gentled. “Surprisingly well, given all the excitement,” she replied. “Better than I have in ages, actually.” Then she gave Kara a pointed look. “Present company’s nightmare aside, of course.”

A shadow flickered over Kara’s face at the mention of her nightmare, but Lena quickly leaned up and planted a tender kiss on Kara’s lips, as if to banish any negativity. Kara melted into it, grateful. When Lena pulled back, she ran a fingertip along Kara’s cheek.

“You were watching over me, weren’t you?” Lena observed in a murmur, recalling Kara’s last whispered words to her. “Even in your sleep, you can’t help it.”

Kara flushed slightly, caught out. “Habit,” she admitted. “Did I wake you? I was trying not to.”

Lena shook her head, her hand slipping down to rest over Kara’s heart. “No. I think my body just knows when dawn is, unfortunately.” She let out a small sigh. “It’s a curse of being a CEO – even on weekends, I can’t sleep past six.”

Kara chuckled. “Whereas writers keep whatever hours inspiration – or insomnia – dictates.” She turned her head to glance at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s hardly six-thirty now. We could probably sleep a bit more.”

Lena seemed to consider it, but there was a subtle inquisitiveness in her eyes as she gazed at Kara. The morning light revealed the faint redness around Kara’s eyes and the lingering solemnity in them that a night of passion hadn’t fully erased. Lena’s brow furrowed just slightly. “You look like you have a lot on your mind,” she said gently. “Is it… about what you told me last night?”

Kara hesitated. Part of her wanted to deflect automatically – to say she was fine. But Lena deserved better than that reflex, especially after everything. Kara settled on a partial truth. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am,” she said softly. “That I got to wake up with you.”

Lena’s expression softened, but a hint of shrewdness remained. “And?” she prompted quietly. Clearly, Lena sensed there was more. Lena Luthor hadn’t built an empire by letting things lie, after all.

Kara bit her lip. She didn’t want to mar this morning with heavy talk, but perhaps Lena needed some reassurance of her own. After all, Lena had bared her soul too in ways – admitting trust issues, fears. Maybe Lena worried Kara regretted entangling their lives so deeply now. The very idea that Lena might think Kara regretted any of this made Kara ache.

“And… I was thinking about that promise you asked of me,” Kara continued, choosing her words with care. “About honesty.”

Lena’s eyes searched hers. “Kara, I didn’t mean to press you while emotions were running high,” she began, a note of concern in her voice. “I know you’re not ready to share everything, and I respect that. Truly.”

“I know.” Kara took Lena’s hand and kissed her fingertips, heart swelling as Lena’s breath caught. “But I want you to know that I heard you. And I meant it when I said I’ll try. I will do everything I can not to hurt you.”

A shadow passed over Lena’s face – doubt, and an echo of old pain. “I believe you’ll try,” she said carefully. “But… I also know there are things you’re not telling me, Kara.” Her voice was gentle, not accusatory, but it trembled just a touch. “I’m not blind. I see the pain behind your sunny smiles, even when you hide it well. I saw it that first day in the café, I saw it last night, and I still see it now. Whatever happened to you, it still weighs on you. And I suspect there’s more than just that old mission.”

Kara’s throat tightened. Lena’s perceptiveness was as sharp as ever – she was clearly alluding to more current secrets without stating them outright. Lena shifted, pushing herself up so that she could sit against the headboard. Kara followed suit, suddenly feeling more vulnerable sitting up and facing Lena directly. She clutched the sheet to her chest, more for the sensation of security than modesty.

Lena reached out and took Kara’s hand between both of hers. Her green eyes were earnest, a touch pleading. “I’m not asking you to tell me everything now,” Lena said softly. “I just need you to know that I know there’s more. You carry a lot on your shoulders, Kara. You don’t have to tell me when you’re not ready… but please don’t pretend it’s not there.” Her voice thickened. “I care about you too much to ignore your pain. I want to help carry it, if you’ll let me.”

A lump formed in Kara’s throat. How was it that Lena could make her feel so seen and so safe at the same time? It was as terrifying as it was wonderful. Kara gently squeezed Lena’s hand. “I… I know you do,” she managed, voice husky. “And I’m so grateful. You’ve already helped me carry more of it than I ever thought I’d share.” She took a shaky breath. “There are parts of my life I’m not proud of, or that I… can’t talk about yet. But nothing changes how I feel about you. Nothing.”

“I understand,” Lena whispered. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Kara’s. The gesture was full of tenderness and a hint of desperation. “I just needed to say it. That I see you. The real you, even if I don’t know all of you. Your goodness, your bravery, but also your hurt.” Lena closed her eyes, and a tear slipped out, landing warm on Kara’s cheek. “And I wish I could take that hurt away.”

Kara felt something in her chest give way. A quiet sob escaped her before she could stop it, and she wrapped her arms around Lena, pulling her close. Lena held her just as tightly. They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, sharing breaths that hitched with emotion. Kara’s eyes burned, and she realised she was crying. Lena was too – Kara could feel dampness on her own shoulder where Lena’s face was tucked.

They were a fine pair: naked, tangled in sheets and secrets, clinging to each other as if the force of their embrace could ward off the rest of the world. In that moment, Kara made a silent vow: When the time comes, I will tell her everything. And I will hope – pray – that she can forgive me.

“I’m sorry,” Kara choked out softly. It wasn’t entirely clear what she was apologising for – perhaps for the tears, or for the hidden truths, or for the eventual hurt she feared. “I don’t mean to make you worry.”

Lena pulled back enough to cradle Kara’s face in both hands. She wiped Kara’s tears with her thumbs, her own eyes shining. “Don’t apologise. We’re past that, remember?” She offered a watery smile. “We’re a right pair, aren’t we? I’m supposed to be the one reassuring you this morning.”

Kara managed a broken laugh. “Maybe we can just reassure each other.”

“Deal,” Lena whispered. She kissed Kara softly, salty and sweet. When they parted, Lena rested her palm over Kara’s heart. “This… whatever this is between us, it scares me,” she admitted. “But I’m in it, Kara. I’m all in. And I promise you, I’m going to protect you too. You and that heart of yours you think you keep so well-hidden.”

Kara stared at Lena, speechless. Protect her? It had never occurred to Kara that Lena might feel she needed protecting. But the fierce determination in Lena’s eyes left no doubt – Lena meant every word. Kara’s instinct was to refute it, to claim she didn’t need protecting, but the words died on her tongue. Because the truth was, Kara was in need of protection – perhaps not physically, but emotionally. Lena had already begun to shield Kara’s wounded soul with her compassion and acceptance.

A tear slipped from Kara’s eye and trailed down to her smile. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she wondered aloud, voice trembling with awe.

“You saved me,” Lena answered simply. “In more ways than one.” Her fingers twined with Kara’s. “Now let me save you a little, hmm?”

Kara could only nod, overcome. She pressed her forehead to Lena’s again, a gesture of gratitude and trust. They stayed in that embrace as the dawn light grew stronger around them, illuminating the two figures wrapped in each other on the bed.

Eventually, Lena drew back and glanced at the clock, then groaned lightly. “As much as I could stay here all day, I do have some things to handle at the lab later.” She bit her lip, eyes dancing over Kara’s face cautiously. “And I suppose you have your own things…?”

Kara knew Lena was referring obliquely to the analysis of the bug and any writing she had to pretend to do. She nodded. “I should check in on a few… er, leads.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; she needed to call Alex. “But not just yet.”

Lena smiled in clear relief. “Good. Because I’m not ready to let you go yet.” With that, she guided Kara back down onto the pillows. “Rest a bit more with me?”

How could Kara refuse? They slipped back into each other’s arms, shifting until Kara was spooning Lena from behind, Lena’s body tucked snugly against her own. Lena let out a contented sigh as Kara draped an arm around her waist.

Within minutes, Lena had fallen back into a light doze; Kara could tell from the rhythmic pattern of her breathing. Kara herself remained awake, but peaceful. She nuzzled her face into the sweet scent of Lena’s hair and allowed her eyes to drift shut, simply savouring the closeness.

As Lena slept safely in her arms, Kara sent up a silent hope – to any power that might be listening – that this wouldn’t be taken from her. Let me keep this, she pleaded in her mind. Let me earn this.

Unbeknownst to Kara, Lena was not fully asleep. Though her eyes were closed, her mind was quietly turning. In the half-conscious haze of early morning, Lena replayed everything – Kara’s nightmare, the heartfelt confessions, the profound intimacy they’d shared. Kara’s secrets were still there, lurking in the shadows, but Lena understood now that whatever Kara hid, it stemmed from pain, not malice. That knowledge tempered Lena’s lingering suspicions with empathy.

Lena peeked her eyes open just a sliver, looking at Kara’s hand intertwined with hers against her midsection. The sight brought a soft smile to her lips. Carefully, she shifted in Kara’s embrace to face her. Kara’s eyes were shut, golden lashes fanning her cheeks, and her breathing was calm but wakeful. She was not truly asleep; Lena knew Kara’s breathing pattern by now. Likely Kara was simply resting or lost in thought.

Lena studied Kara’s face – so serene in repose, yet bearing faint traces of last night’s turmoil. There was a tenderness in Lena’s gaze that would have made Kara blush had she been watching. Lena reached up and ghosted her fingertips along Kara’s jaw, not quite touching, just tracing the air above skin. In that moment, Lena vowed silently to herself: I will find out the truth, Kara Danvers. Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll uncover it. Not because she distrusted Kara, but because she needed to confront whatever forces had hurt this woman she… she loved. Yes, Lena dared think the word: love. She hadn’t spoken it and neither had Kara, but it thrummed in the air between them nonetheless.

Lena’s protective instincts – so rarely roused in her life – were now on high alert. Kara might believe she had to shoulder everything alone, but Lena would prove her wrong. If there was a threat still stalking them in the shadows (be it Morgan Edge or Kara’s inner demons or something Lena couldn’t yet name), Lena would meet it head-on. Kara had saved her; now Lena intended to return the favour, even if saving Kara meant saving Kara from her own secrets.

As Kara finally slipped into a light sleep beside her, Lena stayed awake a while longer, keeping watch. She gently wiped away the single tear that clung to Kara’s lashes – a remnant of their earlier emotion – and pressed a kiss to Kara’s knuckles. Kara shifted and murmured something in her sleep, her forehead creasing briefly before smoothing out again when Lena stroked her hair.

Lena’s heart swelled almost to bursting. She would not fail this woman. Whatever came next – the mystery of the threats, the secrets in Kara’s past – Lena would face it. She tightened her embrace around Kara, her
…her resolve only hardened. Lena would not fail Kara. Whatever truths were still tucked away behind Kara’s guarded smiles, Lena would find them out – and when she did, she would stand by Kara through all of it. Until that day, she would do everything in her power to protect this brave, broken woman who had already done so much to protect her.

With that silent promise sealed in her heart, Lena exhaled and eased back down, drawing the sleeping Kara ever so gently against her. Kara murmured something unintelligible and snuggled into Lena’s embrace, entirely at peace. Lena brushed a tender kiss against Kara’s crown, her eyes drifting shut at last. There would be questions to answer and secrets to unravel soon enough. But for now, in the delicate hush of morning, Lena simply watched over Kara’s slumbering form – and vowed that no matter what the coming days brought, she would guard Kara Danvers’ heart as fiercely as Kara had guarded hers.

Chapter Text

Dawn’s first light crept through the narrow windows of the covert operations lab, painting long stripes across the concrete floor. Kara Danvers stood at the center of the dimly lit room, hands braced on a steel table, eyes fixed on the disassembled surveillance device lying before her. The tiny bug looked innocuous—a black plastic shell no larger than a button battery, wires and a micro-transmitter spilling out from where Kara had carefully pried it open. It was hard to believe something so small had nearly slipped past them all. Harder still to believe how close it had come to hurting her.

Kara’s jaw tightened. Only a few hours ago, she had awoken in Lena’s bed to the soft hush of early morning, Lena’s dark hair splayed over her shoulder and the warmth of Lena’s arm draped across her waist. In that fragile dawn silence, Kara had allowed herself a single, lingering moment to memorize the rise and fall of Lena’s breathing. Safe. Unaware. Trusting. It had almost been enough to make her stay—to forsake duty for just a few more minutes of peace. But peace was a luxury Kara couldn’t afford. Not while threats circled like wolves outside Lena’s door.

She had slipped out of Lena’s penthouse just as the sun broke the horizon, leaving a gentle kiss on Lena’s temple and a hastily scribbled note on the nightstand (“Back soon, don’t worry”). Every step away from that sanctuary had felt like tearing off a piece of herself, but she’d promised Lena—promised herself—that she would do whatever it took to keep Lena safe. That promise had led her here, to the DEO’s makeshift lab on the outskirts of London, resuming the silent war she waged in the shadows.

Across the table, Querl Dox—Brainy to his friends—hovered with a focused frown. His platinum-blond hair caught the fluorescents as he bent over the circuit board with a pair of fine-tipped tweezers. He was still in the same clothes as yesterday, a rumpled button-up and cardigan, as if he hadn’t left this lab all night. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t. A scattering of computer parts, soldering tools, and coffee cups encircled his workstation in organized chaos.

“Alright,” Brainy murmured, more to himself than to Kara, “serial number… 734-Delta-K.” He peered through a magnifier glass, then straightened and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This model is definitely custom. The transmitter is operating on a frequency rarely seen in off-the-shelf devices.”

Kara tore her eyes from the bug to look at Brainy. She realized her fingers had been unconsciously tracing the raised ridge of scar tissue through her shirt—her old bullet wound pulsing with memory. She forced her hand flat against the table. “Custom? So not something anyone can buy on Amazon.”

A ghost of a smile touched Brainy’s lips. “Not unless Amazon has opened a Dark Web department recently.” He tapped at a laptop beside the disassembled bug, where lines of code and technical readouts were streaming. “This bug’s frequency and encryption signature match a series of devices we’ve encountered before in corporate espionage cases. They’re usually sold through a handful of covert suppliers. I’m cross-referencing it now.”

Kara nodded, her mind already cycling through possibilities. She had spent the short drive here recalling every detail of the night Lena found the bug in her lab. Kara remembered the brief flash of fear in Lena’s eyes, the way Lena’s hand had trembled just slightly when she showed Kara the tiny device she’d discovered stuck under her lab’s central workstation. Lena hadn’t wanted to call the authorities—perhaps unwilling to trust anyone with L-Corp’s secrets—but she had trusted Kara to stay with her, to keep her safe for that one night. It was Kara who had pocketed the bug with a reassuring smile, lying through her teeth that she’d hand it over to a “tech-savvy friend” for a discreet analysis. Kara who had, in the dead of that same night, slipped the bug to Brainy’s awaiting hands in exchange for a fresh identical decoy to place back in Lena’s lab, so whoever planted it wouldn’t realize it was found.

Now that little piece of subterfuge was paying off. Kara exhaled slowly and straightened her spine, rolling the tension from her shoulders. “What do we know so far?”

Brainy swiveled to a different keyboard, fingers flying across keys with practiced ease. A pair of large monitors flickered in front of him, one showing an internal schematic of the device, the other a cascade of search results from various databases—Interpol, known tech suppliers, customs import logs. Kara’s own reflection hovered ghostlike on the screen as she stepped up beside him: pale skin, blonde hair pulled back in a messy knot, blue eyes underscored by shadows of fatigue. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly slept—not counting the few hours snatched in Lena’s arms, which had been far from restful in the end.

Brainy’s calm, efficient voice pulled her focus. “The bug is a hybrid design,” he explained. “It has a short-range transmitter for real-time listening, likely paired to a nearby receiver—given the drone you intercepted, I’d say that was the relay.” He glanced at Kara, acknowledging the second piece of this puzzle. Kara gave a grim nod. The drone. She hadn’t forgotten the small quadcopter she’d spotted humming outside Lena’s penthouse skylight that night, nor the satisfying crunch it made when she’d jammed its rotors and yanked it from the air. She’d handed its remains off to Brainy as well, and he had confirmed it was receiving a feed from the bug.

“The drone acted as a middle-man,” Brainy continued. “It likely stayed within a hundred-meter radius to pick up the bug’s transmission and then forwarded that data via a cellular network or satellite link to whoever was listening. Which means—”

“Which means whoever is on the other end could be anywhere,” Kara finished, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to tamp down a surge of impatience. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. The people after Lena were cautious and clever. They wouldn’t just park a van outside her building and hope for the best. They had resources, and they knew how to cover their tracks. Corporate sabotage and “accidents,” Alex had called it. Morgan Edge’s invisible fingerprints, all over Lena’s life.

At the thought of Edge, Kara’s hands curled into fists on the table. She could almost picture him—smug, untouchable in some boardroom fortress, pulling puppet strings and calling this deadly play from afar. Every instinct in Kara screamed to go straight at him, to rip his entire operation apart with her bare hands. But Edge was insulated behind layers of deniability and law. They needed more than instinct to stop him; they needed proof, details, and a plan. They needed this puzzle completed.

Brainy shot a quick look at her balled fists and cleared his throat gently. “The good news,” he said, tactfully steering the conversation back, “is that I was able to retrieve the drone’s SIM card. Its data logs gave us a few packets of the transmissions it relayed. They’re encrypted, but I’m working on that. More importantly, I cross-checked the bug’s serial and components.” He tapped a final key and leaned back as one of the monitors pinged.

“Ah. There we are.” Brainy pointed at the screen. “This bug was likely part of a batch sold to a private security outfit last year. A firm called S&K Ventures, officially based in Edinburgh. Unofficially”—he clicked on a document that displayed procurement records—“they’re a shell company. Their purchase history is suspect as hell. Bulk orders of surveillance tech, tactical gear, short-term leasing of unregistered vehicles... No legitimate security consulting firm needs this kind of equipment without leaving a trace of client billing.”

Kara stepped closer, scanning the data. The document Brainy had pulled up was a shipping manifest flagged by DEO intelligence: a consignment of “audio monitoring devices” matching their bug’s specs, delivered four months ago to an address in Scotland under S&K Ventures’ name. Brainy had highlighted a line noting the payment source: an offshore account linked to an Edge Tech subsidiary. The sight of the name Edge Tech made Kara’s stomach twist with anger and vindication.

“So it’s confirmed,” she said quietly. Her voice was steady, but inside, a hot current of rage was building. “Morgan Edge is behind this. He paid for the toys.”

“Indirectly, but yes.” Brainy glanced at her, his expression carefully neutral. He knew how personal this was for Kara—perhaps better than anyone at the DEO. “Alex’s initial intel was on the money. Edge’s people acquired these bugs through a cut-out. And then one found its way into Lena’s lab.”

Kara expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Confirmation. A part of her had clung to a slim hope that maybe it was some other culprit—some deranged stalker or competitor that could be more easily scared off. But it was Edge, the worst-case scenario. A billionaire with endless resources, a grudge, and no conscience. A man who wouldn’t stop until Lena’s groundbreaking clean energy project—and Lena herself—were neutralized.

She set her jaw and looked to Brainy. “Then we need to find the people Edge hired. The ones on the ground here doing his dirty work.”

Brainy offered a tight nod. “Working on that. If S&K Ventures was used to purchase the gear, maybe they’re involved directly. Or Edge contracted mercenaries who used S&K as a front. In either case, someone local had to plant that bug in her lab. I doubt Edge flew in his own executives to do it.”

Kara’s mind raced. Lena’s lab had high security, yet someone had infiltrated it. Possibly a visitor or a maintenance worker with credentials. Or a sophisticated break-in when no one was around. However it happened, there would have been planning and observation. Which meant these people were likely still monitoring Lena’s routines, waiting for their moment to strike. The drone proved an ongoing operation, not a one-off.

“They’ll want to stay close,” Kara said, thinking aloud. “The drone had to operate within a few hundred meters. That means they’ve been physically near Lena’s penthouse or lab at times. Maybe a safehouse or a vantage point in the neighborhood.”

Brainy nodded and spun to another terminal. “I anticipated that. I’ve been reviewing CCTV footage from around L-Corp and Lena’s residence for the nights we suspect the drone was operating.” He gestured to a smaller side monitor, where a grid of video thumbnails showed grainy nighttime scenes—rooftops, streets, building entrances—each timestamped.

Kara hadn’t realized he’d already gone that far. She felt a surge of gratitude for Brainy’s thoroughness—he must have been up all night compiling this data. She came to stand at his shoulder, close enough to note the faint scent of coffee and solder that clung to him. “See anything?”

Brainy pressed play on one of the feeds. It was a traffic camera overlooking a block adjacent to Lena’s lab facility. The timestamp indicated late night, two days ago—the night of the bug’s discovery and the drone incident. At first, Kara saw nothing but an empty street glistening with a recent rain. Then, a subtle movement at the corner of the frame—a black van easing out of an alley with its lights off. The van paused for a few seconds, as if the driver were checking something, and then slowly rolled away into the night.

“That van,” Brainy noted, freezing the frame. He zoomed in, but the resolution only revealed a dark silhouette and partial license plate digits. “It showed up on three different cameras around L-Corp in the past week. Always late at night, always circling the area. The plates are stolen—registered to a farm truck in Kent, actually. I suspect that’s our surveillance team’s mobile base.”

Kara studied the image. A generic panel van, the kind that could blend into any city street without drawing a second glance. The realization that these people had been stalking Lena’s life so closely made her skin crawl. She exchanged a look with Brainy. “If we find that van...”

“…we find them,” he finished, eyes glinting with determination behind his glasses. “Precisely.”

Before Kara could respond, the heavy metal door to the lab swung open with a low groan. A tall figure strode in with confident steps. Lucy Lane was dressed in black tactical pants and a fitted jacket, a utility belt slung low on her hip. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and her expression was all business—except for the subtle quirk at the corner of her mouth as she surveyed the scene.

“Hope I’m not late to the party,” Lucy drawled, letting the door clang shut behind her. She carried the faint smell of crisp morning air and petrol, as if she’d come straight from a pre-dawn training drill. In typical fashion, Lucy’s gaze swept the room once—a habitual threat assessment—before landing on Kara and Brainy. “Alex looped me in. Figured you two might need an extra set of eyes.”

Kara felt some of the weight on her shoulders ease at the sight of her colleague. Lucy Lane was one of the DEO’s best field agents—and one of the few people Kara trusted implicitly when things went sideways. They had bled together on enough missions to have an unspoken shorthand. If Lucy was here, it meant Alex, her sister and the DEO’s head of operations, was quietly sanctioning Kara’s off-protocol investigation, even if officially the DEO still insisted Lena remain in the dark.

“Glad to have you,” Kara said, managing a tight smile. “We’re chasing a ghost crew hired by Edge. We traced the bug to a front company and spotted a suspicious van on footage.”

“So I heard.” Lucy approached the table, leaning one palm on it as she inspected the gutted surveillance bug. She let out a low whistle. “Tiny little bastard, isn’t it? They had this in her lab?”

Kara’s expression darkened. “Right under her nose. She found it before it could do too much damage, thankfully.”

Lucy’s brown eyes flicked up to Kara’s face, and Kara sensed the question there: How’s Lena holding up? Kara gave a subtle nod—she’s alright—for now. It was the best answer she could give without derailing into emotions she didn’t have time to indulge.

“Ballsy of them to plant it,” Lucy remarked, straightening. “Means they had access to L-Corp somehow. Inside job or very good break-in.”

“Brainy’s working on identifying the operatives,” Kara replied. She gestured to the monitors. “We’ve got a van that might be their base of operations. If we can locate it in real time…”

“I can help with that,” Lucy said immediately. Her no-nonsense tone warmed slightly with a hint of eagerness—Lucy loved a good hunt. “Any live feeds we can tap into? Traffic cams, drones of our own?”

Brainy was already a step ahead. “I’ve set a script to flag any sighting of that van’s make and partial plate on city traffic cameras. There’s thousands of hours of footage to chew through, but I’m optimizing.” He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Also, I might utilize a little ‘extra-legal’ access to the Metropolitan Police’s traffic network.”

Lucy cracked a grin. “Brainy, you rebel. Hacking the Met before I’ve even had my tea.”

He gave her a mild, literal look. “I don’t typically consume tea. But if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a chamomile later. Caffeine makes me jittery.”

Lucy huffed a soft laugh, then glanced at Kara. “He’s been up all night, hasn’t he?”

“Pretty much,” Kara confirmed, crossing her arms. “We all have.”

Lucy’s gaze lingered on Kara’s face for a beat. Whatever she saw there made her lips press into a thin line. “Yeah. I can tell.”

Kara knew how she must look: drawn, eyes a little too bright, running on nerves and conviction. She could almost hear Lucy’s unspoken And I know why—the understanding born from those weeks Lucy had watched Kara gradually fall for the woman she was assigned to protect. Lucy had called it out early, in her blunt way. “You’re either protecting the asset or falling for her. One of those gets you killed.” Kara had nearly bitten her head off at the time, but Lucy hadn’t been wrong.

Kara forced her attention back to the present. “Brainy, aside from the van, do we have any other leads we can act on right now?”

He spun in his chair to face them fully, tapping a pen against his chin. “Actually, yes. The purchase records for the bug batch also show a delivery address in London—likely a staging point. It was a warehouse in Islington, ostensibly a storage facility. Could be nothing, or could be where they stashed equipment upon arrival.”

Lucy’s eyes lit with a predatory gleam. “Sounds like a place to check out.”

Kara considered it. Islington wasn’t far. If this warehouse was indeed used by Edge’s contractors, they might find traces of them there. At the very least, some clues. “Could be a dead end if they cleared out,” she said. “But if we move now, maybe we get lucky.”

Brainy interjected, “I have to stay and continue the decryption on the intercepted data and watch for the van. But you two—” He nodded at Kara and Lucy. “—could take a field trip. I’ll guide you in remotely with schematics and any intel I can pull on the fly.”

Lucy was already heading to an equipment locker, grabbing two communication earpieces and tossing one to Kara. “A little morning warehouse raid. Just like old times, huh Danvers?”

Kara caught the earpiece and smirked despite herself. “Hopefully with less getting shot at than old times.”

“No promises,” Lucy replied, checking her sidearm with a quick, practiced motion. Her tone was light, but Kara caught the undercurrent of seriousness in her friend’s eyes. They both knew what was at stake. If this was the crew working for Edge, these were the people who had been terrorizing Lena for weeks. People who would not hesitate to harm her if it meant fulfilling their contract. Kara felt a coil of anger tighten in her gut at the thought.

As Kara clipped the earpiece on and ensured her own concealed pistol was loaded and ready under her jacket, Brainy quickly transferred data to a tablet and handed it to her. A map of Islington popped up, with a highlighted building. “That’s the warehouse. I’ll be on comms if you need me. Be careful.”

Kara gave him a grateful nod. “We will.”

Lucy swung the door open again, and morning light flooded into the lab’s threshold. “Time to hunt,” she said quietly. Kara shared one last look with Brainy—he offered a small, encouraging smile—and then followed Lucy out into the chilly London morning.

The drive to Islington felt both too slow and a blur. Kara and Lucy rode in tense silence for most of it, a nondescript DEO sedan whisking them through the city’s waking streets. Kara kept her eyes moving, scanning side mirrors and rooftops out of habit. Lucy, one hand on the wheel, occasionally cast a glance at Kara as if weighing whether to speak. In the end, she kept quiet, respecting Kara’s focus. They both knew the stakes.

As they neared the industrial block indicated on Brainy’s map, Lucy killed the siren she hadn’t needed and instead took a circuitous route, coming up on the warehouse from the back. They parked a short distance away behind an empty loading dock. The area was mostly still at this hour—just the hum of distant traffic and the croak of a lone seagull perched on a lamppost. The warehouse itself loomed ahead: an old brick-and-steel structure with a faded sign proclaiming “Baxter Import & Storage” on one side. If S&K Ventures had used it, they’d done nothing to advertise their presence.

Kara and Lucy slipped out of the car, quietly closing the doors. The morning air was brisk and smelled of damp concrete. Kara tugged a plain black baseball cap low over her blonde hair – any little bit to obscure her identity from prying eyes – and followed Lucy along the chain-link fence that bordered the warehouse lot.

“Fence is cut here,” Lucy noted under her breath, kneeling by a section where the metal links had been cleanly snipped and re-twisted to appear intact. She separated the makeshift seam enough for them to pass through. “Someone didn’t want to use the front door.”

Kara felt a pulse of adrenaline. They exchanged a wordless nod and slipped through the fence. Ahead was a small yard cluttered with wooden pallets and a couple of rusting shipping containers. The warehouse’s back wall had a corrugated metal loading door, currently closed, and a smaller service entrance door to its side. Lucy approached the service door, moving low and quietly alongside the wall. Kara mirrored her on the other side of the door frame.

Lucy tested the knob—locked. She withdrew a small black pouch of lockpicking tools from her jacket. With efficient motions, she began working on the lock. Kara kept watch over the yard, her ears straining for any hint of movement. Her heart thudded steadily against her ribs, not from fear but from a tightly coiled anticipation.

Within seconds, the lock gave a soft click. Lucy flashed Kara a quick, satisfied grin. She holstered her picks and drew her sidearm, a compact SIG Sauer with a suppressor attached. Kara already had her Glock in hand. Slowly, Lucy turned the knob and eased the door open, the hinges barely whispering.

They slipped inside into shadows. The interior was cavernous, lit only by weak daylight filtering through high, grimy windows. Rows of metal shelving cast long striped shadows over the concrete floor. The air smelled of dust, oil, and something acrid—recently burnt electronics, maybe. Kara’s nose wrinkled at the scent.

She touched the comm at her ear, whispering, “Brainy, we’re in.”

Static, then Brainy’s hushed response, “Copy that. Be careful. I’m accessing the building schematics... Looks like an open storage area with a small office on the northeast corner. Should be to your left, Kara.”

Kara glanced left. Across an open expanse, she could make out the outline of a walled office area built into the warehouse’s corner. Its door was slightly ajar. If there were any clues, they might be there.

Lucy noticed it too. Keeping low, they advanced silently along the edge of the shelving racks. Their footsteps were muffled by a layer of dust and grime. Twice, Kara’s footfalls came to an abrupt halt when Lucy raised her fist—signals to stop and listen. But all Kara heard was the distant drip of water from a leaky roof and the faint echo of their breathing.

They passed a section of the floor that was oddly clean. Kara’s eyes darted down—scuff marks and tire tracks. The size and pattern looked fresh, likely from vehicle tires. She followed the tracks with her gaze to a large double door on the far side of the warehouse. It stood half-open, revealing a loading ramp beyond. And there, inside the warehouse, parked between stacks of crates, was a black panel van.

Kara’s pulse quickened. Even in the dim light, she could see the outline of the license plate—and the partial numbers matched the ones from Brainy’s footage. She nudged Lucy and pointed. Lucy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the van. She mouthed, Bingo.

The van was dark and silent, no signs of occupants. The back doors were closed. Lucy crept toward it from the right while Kara circled left, guns ready. In tandem, they eased up and tried the handles—locked tight. Kara pressed her palm to the hood; it was cool, suggesting it hadn’t been driven in hours. Likely parked here after last night’s surveillance run.

She and Lucy regrouped near the sliding door of the van. Lucy eyed it, then looked to Kara with a question in her eyes: Open it? Kara nodded. Lucy carefully pulled on the driver’s door—it was locked as well, but the side window was already cracked open a sliver. Someone had left it that way. Lucy gently wedged the tip of her knife into the gap and lifted the latch inside. With a soft click, the door unlocked.

They both took a breath. Kara swung the driver’s door open swiftly, her weapon raised, while Lucy mirrored at the passenger side. The interior was empty. Flashlights off, they relied on ambient light to quickly scan the cabin. Fast food wrappers, empty energy drink cans, a London A-Z map book tossed on the dash. Between the driver and passenger seats was a metal box bolted to the floor—perhaps a lockbox or equipment case. It was open and empty.

The van’s interior smelled of stale coffee and sweat. Mounted on the dash was a suction-cup holder for a phone or device, but no device was present. The crew must have taken their primary electronics with them.

Kara’s eyes lingered on the map book. She quietly lifted it, flipping through. Certain pages were dog-eared, including one of central London where L-Corp’s headquarters and Lena’s penthouse would be located. In the margin of that page, someone had scribbled in pen: a few dates and times—past dates, from earlier in the week, next to what looked like shorthand notes (“dry run - 8am”, “all clear”, “delay”). And one upcoming date circled in red: today’s date. Next to it: “Final – 22:00”.

Kara’s blood ran cold. 22:00. Final. That had to be something—a planned operation time, maybe tonight at ten. She exchanged a grim look with Lucy and tapped the circled note silently.

Lucy’s jaw tightened, confirming that Kara wasn’t misreading. Lucy pointed two fingers to her own eyes and then toward the small office in the corner—indicating they should search further for more intel. Kara gently placed the map book back exactly as it was (in case the enemy returned, she didn’t want them to know it was examined) and carefully shut the van door.

They moved on toward the office enclosure. The door was indeed slightly ajar, and faint light spilled from a dusty window into the interior. Kara could make out a couple of desks inside and a pinboard on the wall. She also noted a low hum—perhaps a running computer or server, which was surprising if the place was vacated.

At the door, Kara went first, sweeping low as she entered. Lucy followed high, covering the opposite angle. The small office room was cluttered. Two metal desks were pushed against walls, covered in papers, coffee cups, and electronic parts. On one desk sat a laptop with its screen glowing faintly. The other desk had a portable radio receiver, its lights on standby, and next to it an open case with foam cut-outs for drones—now empty. On the wall above, a corkboard was pinned with photographs and printed pages.

Kara’s gut clenched as she recognized the subject of the photos: Lena, in various candid shots. One showed her in a lab coat walking through her lab’s corridor, another of Lena entering her penthouse building lobby, another, grainy and long-distance, of Lena sitting by a window—perhaps in her office—lit up by a computer screen at night. There were notes scrawled next to each: times, dates, locations. They had been studying Lena’s routine, her habits, mapping when she was most vulnerable.

Lucy murmured a curse under her breath as her eyes roved over the board. “They’ve been watching her every move,” she whispered, voice tight with anger.

Kara forced herself to breathe evenly, though rage simmered through her veins at the violation of Lena’s privacy and safety. Carefully, she pulled out her phone and began snapping photos of the board, making sure to capture everything: Lena’s pictures, the scribbled notes (“Lab – after 7pm often alone”, “Penthouse – usually home by 11”, “No security detail”, and chillingly, “Asset is compliant unaware”). Each note felt like a barb in Kara’s chest.

While she documented the evidence, Lucy moved to the desk with the laptop. The screen was on, showing a login prompt—asking for a password. A sticker on the lid displayed a stylized logo: S&K. “They left a laptop,” Lucy said softly. “Might have intel if we can get in.”

Kara finished with the board and joined Lucy by the laptop. She tapped her comm. “Brainy, we found a computer but it’s locked. Can you assist?”

Brainy’s voice crackled quietly in her ear. “If you can connect it to your tablet via cable, I might run a bypass.”

Lucy was already on it; she took a cable from a kit on her belt and plugged one end into the laptop’s USB port, the other into the slim tablet Brainy had given them. On the tablet’s screen, lines of code and gibberish scrolled as Brainy’s remote wizardry got to work.

“Attempting to dump the memory and crack the password hash,” Brainy said. “Give me a minute...”

Kara kept watch at the office doorway while Lucy guarded the other direction, both keenly aware that at any moment someone could return. The warehouse remained eerily quiet, but Kara’s nerves were on a knife’s edge. She glanced back at the pinboard, her eyes falling on one document that looked like a schematic. Stepping closer, she realized it was a floor plan—Lena’s penthouse layout, complete with handwritten annotations marking entry points, blind spots, even the location of Lena’s bedroom. A chill ran through Kara. They had planned out how to breach Lena’s home.

She photographed that as well. Her hands were steady, but she felt the tremor of barely-contained fury in her chest. Not going to happen, she swore silently. Not on my watch.

The laptop suddenly emitted a soft beep. Brainy exclaimed quietly in her ear, “I’m in. Downloading what I can...”

On the laptop screen, a directory list of files appeared as Brainy navigated remotely. Kara caught glimpses of filenames: “L-Proj_plan.txt”, “Timetable.xlsx”, “Comms.log”. There was also a folder named “Edge_Comm” which made her heart leap—likely communications with Edge or his liaison.

“I’ll copy everything,” Brainy said. “But—uh oh, hold on.”

On their end, Kara and Lucy saw the cursor freeze. Then a warning message flashed on the screen: REMOTE ACCESS DETECTED. PURGING FILES...

“Brainy?” Kara hissed, tension spiking.

Brainy’s tone turned urgent. “They have a security daemon. It’s wiping the drive. I’m trying to kill it—just a few more seconds...”

Kara watched in dismay as file after file on the screen began disappearing. Lucy muttered another curse and looked to Kara with worry. Kara’s mind raced. They needed that data.

“Abort and eject now,” Kara ordered. She lunged forward and yanked the cable and power from the laptop. The screen went black, the hum dying.

“It’s okay,” Brainy said quickly. “I managed to grab a substantial chunk before it triggered. We got something.”

Kara exhaled. Good. At least something. “We have to move,” she said. They’d been here several minutes—any longer was tempting fate. The purge might have alerted the enemy if they had remote monitoring.

Lucy nodded. She quickly grabbed a few physical documents from the desk drawers—stuffing a notebook and a couple of folded maps into her jacket, likely anything that looked relevant.

As they turned to leave the office, a noise outside in the warehouse froze them in place: the distinct crunch of a footstep on gravel just beyond the loading bay door.

Kara darted to the small office window and peeked through the grimy glass. A black SUV had pulled into the lot, two men stepping out cautiously. They were both dressed in nondescript work clothes, but the way they moved screamed professional—one scanned the perimeter with a hand inside his jacket (probably gripping a weapon), the other headed straight for the half-open loading door of the warehouse, lifting a radio to his mouth.

They must have been alerted by the remote security on the laptop—or they were coming to collect their equipment and realized an intrusion was happening.

Either way, they were here now.

Kara and Lucy shared a quick look. Two men, armed. Possibly more in the vehicle. Surprise was on Kara and Lucy’s side for the moment, being inside and hidden. But they were also cornered in this office.

Lucy’s eyes flicked to the back wall. “There.” A narrow door likely led out the other side of the office into the warehouse or another exit. It could be their way out if they moved fast.

Outside, one of the mercenaries was already pushing the warehouse’s loading door open with a metallic rattle. Sunlight poured in, silhouettes stretching.

Kara motioned to Lucy: she would cover, Lucy should retreat first with the intel. Lucy gave a reluctant nod, understanding. Silently, Lucy slipped through the interior office door into the warehouse shadows, making for the side exit they came from.

Kara stayed behind a beat longer. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny device—a DEO issue mini EMP charge about the size of a matchbook. With a quick twist, she armed a ten-second delay and tucked it under the laptop’s now-dead chassis. If the mercenaries got this far, they wouldn’t recover anything useful from the electronics—not after this pulse fried it.

Through the crack of the door, she heard hurried footsteps inside the warehouse now. The first man’s voice, low and tense, echoed: “...told you we should’ve wiped everything last night... Check the van.”

A second voice replied, “Office is open. They’re here.”

Kara slipped out of the office and closed its door softly behind her. She melded into the maze of shelving just as a flashlight beam cut through the dimness where she’d stood a second earlier. She glimpsed one of the mercs stepping into the office, gun drawn, while the other paced toward the van, weapon sweeping the shadows.

Kara’s heart thundered, but her training took over. She edged along the row of shelves, keeping herself low behind crates. Up ahead, she could see Lucy crouched by their entry door, holding it open a sliver and covering Kara’s escape route with her pistol.

They needed a distraction to get out cleanly. In the faint light, Kara spotted a stack of metal canisters on a shelf just about ten feet from the merc by the van. She holstered her Glock quietly and reached out to the shelf nearest her, wrapping fingers around a loose, heavy bolt. With a calculated breath, she tossed the bolt high and hard toward the far end of the warehouse.

It clanged loudly as it struck a pallet of metal pipes, sending them clattering. The noise was explosive in the quiet.

“Who’s there?!” the man by the van barked, pivoting toward the sound and firing two suppressed shots into the darkness. Muzzled pops echoed. At the same time, the man in the office darted out, joining his partner near the van.

Kara seized the moment. In the confusion, she sprinted in a low crouch along the back wall of the warehouse, every muscle primed. Lucy held the door ready. Kara crossed the last few yards in two swift strides and slipped out into the yard. Lucy eased the door shut behind her without a sound.

They moved quickly across the lot toward the fence, but not recklessly. A shout rose from inside the warehouse. “They’re going out the back!”

So much for ghosting out unnoticed. They’d been seen at the last moment—perhaps one of the mercs glimpsed Kara’s form slipping through the door.

Kara and Lucy broke into a full sprint for the fence opening. Behind them, the service door banged open; a gunshot pinged off a metal container to their right. They didn’t return fire—no time. Lucy ducked through the fence first. Kara turned just as she reached the gap and fired two covering shots toward the warehouse. She saw one of the mercenaries dive for cover.

“Kara, come on!” Lucy hissed, already grabbing her arm through the fence.

Kara slid through the gap. Lucy immediately yanked the cut chain-link back in place to obscure their exit. They dashed for their car, which waited just around the corner.

Another muted crack of gunfire sounded, but wild; they were out of sight now. Kara threw herself into the passenger seat as Lucy jumped into the driver’s side and revved the engine. Tyres squealed as the sedan lurched forward.

In the rearview, Kara saw the two men reach the fence, weapons raised. One started to climb through but hesitated as he saw their car peeling away. She braced for bullets, but none came. Perhaps they didn’t want to risk drawing police attention with an all-out shootout in broad daylight. Or maybe they were under orders not to engage directly unless necessary. Either way, within seconds the warehouse and the mercs receded from view as Lucy took a hard turn down an alley and merged into the main road.

Kara realized she’d been holding her breath. She sucked in air, adrenaline still spiking in her veins. Lucy navigated them through a few more turns in silence, ensuring they weren’t being followed. Only once they were several blocks away did she slow to a normal pace and glance over at Kara.

“Got what we needed?” Lucy asked, voice strained between heavy breaths. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Kara quickly checked her jacket pockets. Phone with photos, safe. The small pile of documents Lucy grabbed—maps and a notebook—were on the back seat. The tablet with whatever data Brainy salvaged was in her hand, the screen cracked from where she’d shoved it in her pocket during the sprint. Hopefully it still contained the downloads.

“I think so,” Kara replied. “We have intel and Brainy has data. We’re okay.”

Lucy blew out a sigh and let herself sag back for a heartbeat, the tension of the last few minutes releasing. “Okay. Good.”

Kara felt a fierce satisfaction under her adrenaline. They had risked a lot, but now they had evidence—clear evidence of what Edge’s hired team was plotting. Yet, that satisfaction was tempered by a gnawing dread. She had seen that circled time on the map, the word “Final”. Something was coming, and soon.

She raised the comm to her lips. “Brainy, we’re clear. We have hard copies of their plans. Did you get the data stream?”

Brainy’s relief was palpable. “I did. At least a significant portion before the purge. I’ll start decrypting and analyzing immediately. Are you two alright?”

Lucy answered, “All good. Minor cardio workout, nothing we can’t handle.”

Kara could almost see Brainy’s wry smile. “Return to base. I’ll have a preliminary report by the time you arrive.”

“On our way,” Kara said.

She exchanged a glance with Lucy. Lucy gave a small nod—a mix of nice work and that was close. Kara managed a faint smile back. In the quiet that followed, Lucy drove and Kara found herself gazing out at the city as it fully woke to daytime, pedestrians and delivery trucks oblivious to the life-and-death struggle unfolding in the margins of their world.

Inside Kara’s chest, her heart was still hammering. Not from the escape—they’d faced worse—but from the knowledge of what they had uncovered. Those photos of Lena, the timetable, the word “extraction”. There was no longer any doubt: this wasn’t about scaring Lena anymore. It was about taking her.

And if the timeline circled in that van was correct, they had less than half a day to stop it.

By late afternoon, the small DEO ops center in London was a hive of quiet activity. Kara stood at the center of a horseshoe of computer monitors and holo-screens, all streaming with decrypted text and images that Brainy was parsing at lightning speed. She had shed her cap and jacket, now wearing only a gray t-shirt that clung to her perspiration-damp skin. She scarcely remembered peeling off the heavier layers; her focus was entirely on the information unfolding on the screens.

Lucy sat at one end of the desk, leafing through the physical notebook retrieved from the warehouse. Every so often she’d call out a pertinent detail—“They bribed a janitor at L-Corp to slip in the bug” or “Looks like they’ve got a safe house marked outside the city”—and an analyst nearby would rush over to note it or compare with digital data. Alex had discreetly sent a couple of extra analysts to help Brainy once Kara and Lucy returned with evidence, and now those analysts traded low-voiced updates. Alex herself was coordinating a broader tactical team in case of an imminent intervention, but Kara tuned most of that out. Her attention narrowed to what directly concerned Lena.

Brainy’s fingers flew over a keyboard. “Decrypting the last comm log now,” he announced. On the central screen, a progress bar inched toward 100%. “This includes communications between the mercenary team and their employer’s liaison. It’s heavily encrypted, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Despite the situation, Brainy’s confident mumble almost made Kara smile. But her nerves were too taut to truly appreciate his prowess at the moment. She leaned forward, one hand unconsciously massaging her scar through her shirt as she studied another screen listing “OBJECTIVES” pulled from a document. It was chillingly clinical:

• Neutralize target’s personal security (N/A – none assigned).
• Isolate target from public.
• Extract to secondary location.
• Apply leverage as needed for compliance.
• Await client’s further instructions.

Leverage. Compliance. Kara’s nails dug into her shoulder where she clutched herself. She didn’t want to imagine what “leverage” meant. It could be anything—force, threats, torture. A vivid image rose unbidden: Lena restrained, fear in those green eyes, calling out for help in vain. Kara forced it down with a hard swallow. Focus.

Lucy noticed the tension and shot her a concerned look. “Kara,” she said quietly, “take a breath. We’re getting ahead of this. We know more now than we did this morning.”

Kara nodded absently, but her lungs felt tight. Knowing more was good; knowing that a kidnapping was set for tonight was terrifying.

One of the analysts stepped over with a tablet. “Agent Danvers, Agent Lane—this just came through from Commander Danvers.” The young woman addressed Kara by her DEO title. Kara made an effort to concentrate on her words. “Commander Danvers says local police chatter indicates an incident at that warehouse. The two suspects we encountered seem to have fled before authorities arrived. They torched the van and whatever evidence remained. They’re covering their tracks.”

Lucy cursed under her breath. “So they know we’re onto them, at least partially.”

“Maybe not DEO specifically, but they know someone found their base,” Kara said. It was expected, but hearing it confirmed made her stomach sink further. “They’ll be accelerating their plans.”

As if on cue, Brainy’s keyboard clacked decisively and the progress bar vanished. “Got it. Final comm log decrypted.” He adjusted his glasses and read quickly, his eyes darting across lines of text. “There are messages about the timeline. Originally they planned to execute the abduction tomorrow night, at a charity gala after-party Lena was scheduled to attend—likely thinking it’d be easier to grab her in a public confusion scenario or on her way home late. But…” His voice trailed.

“But now?” Kara prompted, pulse pounding.

Brainy’s expression hardened. “A message timestamped less than an hour ago: ‘Operation moved up. Execute tonight. Target location: primary residence. 22:00 hours. All teams proceed.’”

A heavy silence fell. One of the other techs muttered, “God.” Lucy set her paperwork aside, her face tightening.

Kara felt the room tilt for a second. She caught the edge of the desk to steady herself. Tonight. The word blazed in her mind. It wasn’t just a theory anymore—it was fact. The final puzzle piece clicked into place with sickening clarity: they were coming for Lena, at her home, in just a few hours.

Kara’s heart pounded. The threat was no longer distant or hypothetical—it was immediate, a ticking clock that now ruled her every thought. Fear spiked through her veins, sharp and cold. But beneath it, something harder was crystallizing: resolve.

She had only a handful of hours to protect Lena. Whatever lines she had to cross now, she would cross them without hesitation. She would keep Lena safe.

Kara swallowed against the tightness in her throat. When she spoke, her voice was low and uneven, carrying both determination and dread. “They’re going to kidnap her… tonight.”

Chapter Text

Kara had only just dried her hair when the proximity alert flashed across her DEO tablet. She was in the operations mezzanine, skimming threat profiles over half-eaten toast and black coffee that tasted more like war than breakfast. The lab was quiet—too quiet for 08:17—and her instinct registered it first, before the data.

"We need to recheck the transit patterns from last night," she murmured to Brainy, who was stationed at the lower terminal, before she even realised what was bothering her. "Something’s off."

He glanced up. "Unusual how?"

Kara tapped the tablet. "Look at the second access point. Edge Tech has been rotating watchers near Lena’s lab at consistent intervals, usually between 9 and 11 AM. But this morning? Nothing. They went dark."

"Maybe they’re repositioning."

"Or already moving."

She didn’t wait for confirmation. She crossed to the adjacent panel and pulled up the DEO’s external feeds. Her breath hitched as the secondary lab cam—the backup one, the one she had hidden inside a power conduit behind a vent—flashed black. Then white. Then nothing.

"Kara," Alex’s voice rang from across the room, clipped and urgent. "I just got pinged from our London grid. We’ve lost visuals on the lab. Security feeds went dead four minutes ago."

"Four minutes is too long."

Kara was already moving. Her jacket was on before Alex finished crossing the space toward her. "I thought they were planning to hit the penthouse," Kara snapped, more at herself than anyone else. "That was the play. That was what they wanted us to believe."

Alex caught her by the sleeve. "We go together. Wait for ground teams."

"There isn’t time."

"Kara—"

"Alex, if I wait, she dies."

Alex stared at her for a second that felt like an hour, then handed her the keys to the interceptor. "No earpiece. No comms. You go dark. You hear me? You keep her safe, but you keep yourself alive."

Kara nodded once, sharp and silent. The weight in her chest had already shifted from fear to focus.

--

The streets blurred around her. The DEO vehicle’s engine growled beneath her, calibrated for silence, speed, and urban terrain. The kind of car you use when the world is ending and you’re the one meant to stop it.

She took corners harder than she should, but the tyres gripped like claws. The adrenaline in her veins made her movements mechanical, efficient, brutal. Her mind flashed through every beat of Lena’s routine: leave for the lab at 07:30, arrive by 07:50, coffee by 08:10, locked in deep work by 08:20. The window had been small.

Someone had made it smaller.

She crossed the bridge over the canal near Battersea, tyres chirping as she swerved around a delivery truck. The city was oblivious—pedestrians with earbuds, cyclists, the usual blur of life—but Kara saw it differently now. Every bystander was a potential witness. Every van was a decoy. Every second was a countdown.

Her phone buzzed in the console tray. Brainy. She slapped speaker.

"I’m triangulating mobile data from the last known lab devices," Brainy said without preamble. "Nothing is pinging within the expected radius. But there’s something else."

Kara clenched the wheel tighter. "Go."

"One of Lena’s secure biometrics just registered an anomaly. Her security badge tried to authenticate at a secondary access terminal at 08:12. That terminal isn’t supposed to be online."

Kara’s jaw locked. "They’re using her credentials to spoof an exit."

"Which means they left through a back entrance. Possibly within the last ten minutes."

"I’m two minutes out. Get Alex on backup. Quiet."

"Already on it."

She ended the call and floored the accelerator.

--

Kara braked hard into the alley behind L-Corp’s lab facility, her tyres skidding in the wet grit. She killed the lights and scanned the lot. The main door was ajar. Not wide, but enough. A hairline of wrongness.

She approached on foot, Glock already drawn.

The door wasn’t forced. That scared her more. It meant Lena had either let someone in... or they’d never needed to ask.

Kara entered.

The air inside was thick with something she couldn’t name yet—not smoke, not ozone, not blood, but the heavy hush of violence just finished. The lights flickered overhead, one of them humming like a broken bone.

She cleared the first hall. Then the second.

The lab proper was chaos.

A chair overturned. A mug shattered on the ground. Two monitors blacked out. Lena’s personal tablet face-down on the floor, the screen spidered.

But no Lena.

Kara crossed the space in six fast strides, scanning for heat signatures, for breath, for her. Nothing.

Then she saw the streak of red across the tile. Small. Still wet.

Kara felt the world tilt the instant she saw the shattered glass and smeared blood on the white tile floor of Lena’s lab. Evening shadows stretched long through the blown-out security door behind her, illuminating a scene of chaos. An overturned chair, its metal legs twisted at unnatural angles. Papers fluttering down from an upended desk. The sharp scent of burnt electronics and something coppery hung in the air. In one corner, a laboratory worktable lay overturned, delicate instruments and glassware pulverised under boot prints—a deliberate, vicious destruction of Lena’s work. Lena was nowhere to be seen.

“Lena!” Kara’s voice rang out, cracking against the gutted lab’s walls. Only silence answered. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stepped over debris, scanning desperately for any sign of Lena—any movement, a breath, a whisper. She had promised to stay close, never let Lena out of her sight, but now... Kara swallowed hard, her mouth bone-dry. I’m too late. The thought was ice carving through her veins.

Not far away, a young lab technician in a white coat lay sprawled beneath a desk, eerily motionless. The sight drove Kara’s panic higher. Near the corner of the lab, a man in an L-Corp security uniform lay slumped against a cabinet, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead. Kara was at his side in an instant, dropping to a knee. The guard’s eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain. He focused on Kara with effort, relief flickering across his bruised features.

“M-Ms. Danvers...” he mumbled, voice thick and weak. “They... took her.”

Kara’s stomach bottomed out. She pressed a hand to the guard’s shoulder, both to steady him and to anchor herself to reality. “How long ago? Where?” Her words came out urgent, clipped. She tried not to grip him too hard.

The guard winced, gathering his breath. “Five... maybe ten minutes. Black van... headed north.” He shut his eyes, pained. “They shot... the cameras. Jammed alarms. We tried—” A wet cough cut off his words.

“For an instant, her world tilted and nearly went black at the edges. Lena—taken, gone. The horror of it threatened to paralyse her. Kara forced air into her lungs and squeezed the guard’s shoulder, gentling her voice. “Don’t speak. Help is coming.” She hoped that was true. Her mind raced even as she kept pressure on the man’s wound with a grabbed lab coat. Ten minutes. A black van, heading north. Her pulse thudded in her ears, a furious drumbeat of go, go, go.

Kara eased the guard onto his side, ensuring he could breathe. A dozen feet away, a toppled security console blinked weakly—a silent alarm likely already sent out a distress call. Kara’s jaw clenched as she rose, adrenaline surging hot. They tricked us. The enemy had dangled a decoy plan—an attack at the penthouse later tonight—and Kara had clung to that timeline, convincing Lena to stay home and rest while the DEO prepared. Meanwhile, those bastards had struck here, right under Kara’s nose. The realisation tasted bitter.

All of Kara’s careful subterfuge—every lie she’d told to get close, every reassurance she’d given Lena—had failed utterly. In trying to protect Lena in secret, she had left her more vulnerable than ever. If she didn’t get Lena back alive, she would never even have the chance to beg her forgiveness. Kara refused to accept that outcome. Guilt and fury warred in her chest. I left. I left her. She had promised Jack Spheer—Lena’s closest friend—that she would keep Lena safe. That promise was now in shards. She had also vowed she would never betray Lena’s trust the way others had. Yet here she was, failing her on every level. All the lies she’d told to stay by Lena’s side meant nothing if she couldn’t save her. Worse, if Kara didn’t reach her in time, she’d never be able to make this right. Kara’s hands curled into fists. No. She would fix this. Whatever lines she had to cross now, she would cross without hesitation. She would get Lena back.

Her earpiece crackled suddenly with a burst of static. “Kara, report,” came Alex Danvers’ voice, sharp with equal parts fear and command. The DEO had likely seen the lab alarms go offline or Kara’s vitals spike. Kara pressed a finger to her comm, eyes darting once more over the ravaged lab. A wall clock’s second hand ticked relentlessly onward.

“Lena’s gone,” Kara managed, forcing the words out through a throat tight with dread. Saying it aloud made it scaldingly real. “Abducted from the lab. One guard injured, non-fatal. Perpetrators left in a black van about ten minutes ago, heading north.”

She heard Alex curse vividly on the other end. In the background, voices at the DEO ops center spiked into action. “We’re dispatching pursuit teams and alerting Metro Police,” Alex replied briskly. “Kara, stay put. Tactical units are en route to your location. We’ll coordinate—”

“No.” The word burst from Kara like a gunshot. A cold, clear resolve had crystallised within her. She was already moving, snatching her black jacket from a knocked-over chair and shrugging into it as she strode toward the exit. “They have a head start. I’m not waiting, Alex.”

“Kara—” Alex’s tone sharpened, brooking no argument. “Do not engage. We need to do this carefully—”

Kara tore the comm earpiece from her ear and hurled it onto the passenger seat of her nearby DEO SUV as she climbed in. Alex’s protests cut off mid-syllable. Kara’s stomach knotted with guilt at cutting off her sister’s voice, but she couldn’t afford to listen to caution or fear now. “I’m sorry,” she whispered—to Alex, to Lena, to herself, she wasn’t even sure. There was no time to explain; every passing second was a second Lena was in enemy hands, terrified and in danger.

Tyres squealed as Kara slammed the SUV into gear and tore out of the parking lot, fishtailing before the wheels found purchase. She floored the accelerator, weaving through sparse evening traffic with single-minded focus. Streetlights strobed overhead in a dizzying rhythm. Kara’s thoughts churned to their own frantic tempo. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was meant to be tonight. She had clung to that false sense of security and let Lena out of her sight—and the enemy had exploited it brilliantly. The realisation sat like poison on her tongue.

Images assaulted her: Lena’s trusting smile over coffee that morning as Kara lied about running errands; Lena’s playful eye-roll when Kara insisted she keep the penthouse doors locked tonight “just in case”; Lena’s face last night as she’d fallen asleep in Kara’s arms, believing the worst was over; the ghost of Lena’s lips against hers in that one desperate kiss they’d shared in a moment of fear; Lena’s peaceful expression just this morning when Kara pressed a soft kiss to her temple and promised she’d be back soon. And now all of it was broken by Kara’s failure. All her careful pretence and good intentions had been for nothing. In trying to shield Lena with lies, she had left her exposed to this nightmare.

The thought that Lena might never forgive her threatened to surface, but Kara crushed it down. It didn’t matter. First, save Lena. Everything else could come after—her own guilt, Lena’s anger, all of it. If she didn’t save Lena, nothing else mattered. For a split second, Lucy’s voice echoed in her mind: Feelings get you killed. Maybe Lucy had been right. Kara’s chest burned with fear—but losing Lena was not a scenario she would accept.

She hurtled onto the A10 heading north, the SUV’s engine snarling. Wind whipped through the open window, cold and bracing. Kara welcomed the chill sting on her perspiration-damp skin; it focused her mind like a slap. She swerved around slower cars, heart pounding so fiercely it thrummed in her ears. A map on the dashboard screen blinked to life as an incoming call from Brainy overrode it. Kara answered with a brusque tap, putting it on speaker.

“I’ve got the van on CCTV,” Brainy’s voice crackled through, remarkably calm despite the urgency. “Black Ford Transit, no plates. Two kilometres ahead of you, turned off near Alexandra Palace onto a side road. Coordinates sent to your GPS. The site appears to be a decommissioned chemical plant.”

On the display, a route flashed. Kara’s eyes flicked to it, then back to the dark road. “Got it.” Her voice was tight, controlled.

Brainy’s tone softened. “Kara… please be cautious.”

She nearly smiled at the irony—caution was long gone. “Any heat signatures?” she asked instead, pressing the accelerator harder.

A few keyboard clicks sounded on Brainy’s end. “Thermal scans show six figures. Hard to differentiate at this range, but… one is separate from the others. Smaller, stationary.” He didn’t say Lena’s name, but Kara’s blood surged at the implication. Lena was alive—at least for now.

“Northwest corner of the main structure,” Brainy continued. “Likely ground floor or basement. We’re eight minutes out, Kara. Don’t—”

“I’m almost there,” Kara cut in. Headlights ahead revealed the hulking silhouette of industrial buildings looming beyond a wooded lot. She killed her headlights and let momentum carry the SUV the last stretch in darkness. “I’ll call you when it’s done.” Without waiting for a response, she ended the call. Another directive ignored.

Kara guided the SUV off the road, coasting behind a stand of overgrown bushes about a hundred yards from the facility’s chain-link fence. She shut off the engine and slid out of the vehicle as quietly as possible. The night air was frigid against her sweat-damp skin, raising gooseflesh along her arms. Kara welcomed the chill; it steeled her resolve further. Through the gloom, she could make out squat warehouse structures and the skeletal outlines of old chemical storage tanks beyond the fence. A rusted sign hung crookedly on the gate, its faded letters barely legible. The entire complex looked dead and forgotten—a perfect place for monsters to hide in the dark.

“I see the site,” she whispered into the silence.

Kara crept along the perimeter until she found a section of fence where the chain-link had been cleanly cut and re-looped—recently and covertly. She pushed the cut edges aside and slipped through. The small yard beyond was cluttered with weeds and rubbish. Her boots crushed something—glass, perhaps—making her wince. In the distance, a lone car horn blared and then fell quiet, leaving only the faint hum of traffic and her own heartbeat. She drew her Glock pistol from its holster and affixed the suppressor with steady fingers.

Up ahead, the main warehouse’s side door stood ajar, a sliver of yellowish light spilling out. Kara hugged the wall and inched closer, heart hammering. Voices drifted through the gap: low, rough tones echoing inside the metal structure.

“...hold her until exfil,” a man said, words just clear enough to reach Kara.

A second voice, American accent, sneered, “Should just put a bullet in her and be done.”

Kara’s gut churned, a spike of fury nearly making her see red. Hold it together.

Inside, a third voice—British, clipped—responded, “Client wants her alive. Wants her broken. We wait for instructions.”

A pause. Kara risked peeking through the gap in the door. She glimpsed a wide open area lit by a few portable work lamps. Stacks of crates and metal barrels created aisles of shadow. Near the centre, she saw Lena.

Kara’s breath caught. Lena was bound to a chair, smack in the middle of an open space. Even at this distance, Kara could see her head hanging forward and the dark sheen of blood matting the side of her face. Kara’s fingers tightened around her pistol grip until it hurt. Keep focused.

The bald mercenary with a tablet stood a few paces from Lena, and two more were patrolling idly among the crates. Another two were by a loading bay door, rifles in hand. Five accounted for—where was the sixth?

A swear from inside answered that: “Bloody hell, where’s Hayes? He should be back from perimeter by now.”

Kara realised with a grim smile that “Hayes” must be the fence-cutting guard she’d yet to encounter. Possibly the one she’d already snuck past. She couldn’t wait longer. Surprise was on her side now; any delay risked them harming Lena or moving her.

Kara drew a silent breath, then slipped like a wraith through the partially open door into the warehouse.

The interior was cavernous and dim, lit only by those weak lamps. High above, broken windows allowed in slivers of moonlight. The air smelled of oil, mould, and fear. Kara kept to the shadows behind a row of rusting metal shelves. Her heartbeat sounded thunderous in her own ears, but her training kept her footfalls soft.

A mercenary with a shotgun slung on his back strode into view between two shelving units, heading in her direction as he scanned the darkness. Kara pressed herself flat behind a stack of crates. He hadn’t seen her—yet. She’d have to take him out silently.

As the man passed her position, Kara moved. She stepped out behind him like a phantom, one arm looping around to clamp a hand hard over his mouth. Her other hand drove her knife upwards, swift and precise. The blade sank under his ribcage with a nauseating shhk. The mercenary jerked violently in her grip, a muffled scream dying against her palm. Hot blood spurted over Kara’s gloved hand as she dragged the man backward into the shadows.

She felt the hot gush soak through her glove as she lowered him silently to the concrete. In that moment, she spared no pity for the gurgling man—he was just an obstacle between her and Lena. The merc shuddered and went limp. Kara eased his body down behind the crates, heart hammering but mind cold. One down.

No alarm yet. The others hadn’t noticed. Kara ghosted forward. Twenty metres across perhaps, the open space yawned between her and Lena’s chair. She could hear Lena’s captors more clearly now.

“...didn’t sign up for half the city on our tails,” one man was grumbling near the loading door.

A second barked, “Shut it. Do your job.”

Kara darted behind an old forklift, using it as cover. From here she had a clearer view of Lena—and of the bald man now crouching beside her. He gripped Lena’s chin and turned her face up. Lena’s features were slack, eyes half-open but dazed. A gag was tied cruelly across her mouth. Kara’s vision went red at the edges as the man patted Lena’s cheek mockingly.

“All quiet on comms,” the bald mercenary called to the others, rising to his feet. “We hold until Barr gives word. Then we’ll torch this place and be off.”

Torch this place. They intended not only to take Lena but to destroy everything—perhaps even Lena’s work. Kara’s lip curled in a silent snarl.

She edged around the forklift, raising her pistol. The two by the door were momentarily distracted, discussing something in low tones. Kara took aim at the closer one. Phfft—phfft. Two suppressed shots, center mass. The man crumpled without a sound. His partner spun, alarm spreading across his face—only to catch Kara’s third bullet squarely between the ribs. He toppled with a strangled gasp.

The sudden gunfire alerted the remaining mercenaries. “Contact!” one shouted. The bald leader lunged back toward Lena, yanking a handgun from his belt. Another merc—the American—ducked behind a pillar and opened fire wildly in Kara’s direction. Suppressed bullets whipped past the forklift with vicious snap-snap sounds. Kara ducked, gritting her teeth.

She leaned out low and returned fire, her muzzle flashing softly. The American yelped as one of her shots grazed his thigh. He scrambled deeper into cover with a string of curses.

A sudden impact exploded in Kara’s left arm—one of the wild rounds found flesh. Pain lanced hot and sharp from her bicep. She bit back a cry, teeth gritting hard. The round hadn’t hit bone; she could still move the arm. Warm blood was soaking through her sleeve, but adrenaline blunted the sting. Her vision wavered with the shock, but she refused to falter. She thought of Lena’s face—of how terrified she must be right now—and forced herself on. Hold on, Lena, she pleaded silently. I’m coming.

Through the gloom, Kara spotted the bald man dragging Lena’s chair backward, trying to put her between himself and the gunfight. Fury roared through Kara’s veins at the sight of Lena being used as a human shield. With a feral determination, Kara vaulted over the forklift and charged.

The American merc saw her movement and popped up to intercept, firing as he moved. Kara jinked left; a bullet zinged past her ear. In two quick strides, she closed the distance. Before the man could get another shot off, Kara drove her shoulder into his midsection with brutal force. They slammed to the ground just a metre from where Lena was bound.

Lena’s head lolled up at the noise, her eyes wide with disoriented fear. Kara barely registered Lena’s muffled whimper as she grappled with the mercenary on the floor. The man was strong, and he fought with desperate ferocity. He landed a hook across Kara’s side that sent pain jolting through her bruised ribs. Kara answered with an elbow rammed into his throat. He gagged, his grip on his pistol loosening. She seized his wrist and wrenched it, bones snapping under her hands. The gun clattered from his fingers.

In one fluid motion, Kara snatched up the fallen weapon and pressed it to the mercenary’s chest. Pfft. A single silenced shot, point-blank. The man jerked beneath her and then fell limp, eyes glazing. A fine mist of blood sprayed Kara’s boots and the concrete. Lena flinched as a few warm droplets peppered her calves. Kara tossed the empty gun aside and surged back to her feet, chest heaving.

Only one hostile remained—the bald leader, and he was now desperately holding his handgun to the side of Lena’s head as she sat bound in the chair. His face was a mask of fury and panic. “Not another move, Danvers!” he snarled, pressing the muzzle against Lena’s temple. Lena, half-lucid, let out a strangled whine through her gag. Her eyes rolled toward Kara, confused and pleading.

Kara went statue-still, gun raised at the man but finger off the trigger. Her blood pounded in her ears. At this range, she couldn’t risk a shot without endangering Lena. The man edged around the chair, keeping Lena between them as a shield.

“That’s right,” he spat, breath ragged. “Drop it. Drop the gun now, or I’ll blow her pretty brains out.”

For a heartbeat, nothing but the sound of Lena’s laboured breathing and Kara’s pounding pulse filled the air. Kara’s mind raced through options. The knife strapped to her ankle... the distance... the angle...

Slowly, Kara lowered her pistol and let it drop from her grip. It hit the floor with a dull thud. She raised her hands, ostensibly in surrender, though her muscles were coiled to spring. “Alright,” she said, voice low and steady despite the adrenaline surging in her veins. “Let’s all just take a breath.”

The mercenary sneered, emboldened. “Kick it away,” he barked, nodding at her pistol. Kara nudged the Glock aside with her boot, never taking her eyes off him—or Lena. Lena was shaking, her face bloodless above the gag. Kara’s heart screamed to rush forward, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm.

“Good,” the man growled. He was right behind Lena now, one hand fisted in her hair to keep her head still, the other pressing the gun to her skull. He started edging them both toward the open loading bay—likely intending to make an escape with Lena as hostage.

Kara subtly shifted her stance. The toe of her boot brushed something small and metallic on the floor—the wrench the mechanic had left on the forklift earlier. Her fingers twitched.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the merc snapped, taking her movement for aggression. He dug the gun harder against Lena’s temple, making Lena whimper. “Think you’re fast enough? Maybe you are. But are you willing to bet her life on it?”

Kara’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The man was jittery; sweat rolled down his temple. His finger flexed on the trigger. She needed him focused on her, not Lena. Very slowly, Kara raised one hand to shoulder level and tugged her tactical mask off, revealing her face fully in the lamplight. She met the mercenary’s wild eyes with an icy calm.

“You’re right,” Kara said, voice eerily even. “I am fast.”

Something in her tone made him falter, just for an instant. In that instant, Kara moved.

Her foot hooked the heavy wrench off the ground and she kicked it with blinding speed toward his face. The metal tool whipped through the air. The mercenary reflexively jerked back; the gun shifted a hairsbreadth away from Lena. That was all Kara needed.

She lunged in a blur. The pistol went off—thwip!—the bullet tearing harmlessly into the ceiling as Kara knocked the weapon aside. She drove her fist square into the man’s jaw with a crack. He staggered, releasing Lena. Kara followed with a vicious knee to his gut, then a sharp elbow strike across the side of his head. The merc collapsed to the concrete, dazed and groaning. Kara kicked his gun far out of reach. The man tried to rise, but Kara swung a final roundhouse kick to his temple. His eyes rolled back and he crumpled, unconscious.

Silence crashed down over the warehouse, broken only by Kara’s ragged panting and Lena’s muffled, hitching breaths. Kara stood over the mercenary’s prone form, every muscle taut, ready to continue if he so much as twitched. But he lay motionless. It was over. It was finally over.

For a suspended moment, Kara remained in a fighting crouch, adrenaline roaring in her ears. She waited—half expecting another threat to lunge from the shadows—but none did. All six hostiles were down, neutralised. Blood pounded at her temples. She wiped a splatter of blood from her cheek with the back of her trembling hand and turned.

Lena was alive.

Kara’s gaze snapped to Lena, and a sob nearly escaped her throat at what she saw. Lena sat bound to the chair exactly as Kara had glimpsed, her posture sagging. Her hands were tied brutally behind her back and her legs taped to the chair’s legs. Blood trickled from a cut at her temple and her lower lip was split and swollen. Lena’s eyes were half-open, glazed with confusion and terror. She was struggling to focus on Kara, as if unsure whether what she was seeing was real.

Kara rushed to her side, stumbling over her own feet in her haste. “Lena,” she breathed, holstering her knife. Her voice emerged choked and strange to her own ears. She crouched in front of Lena, both hands up in a soothing gesture. “Lena, it’s me. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

At the sound of Kara’s voice, Lena flinched and tried to shrink back, the chair scraping the floor. Even gagged and half-conscious, her instinct was to recoil—from her. Realisation struck Kara like a punch: Lena was afraid of her. Her heart cracked nearly in two. Fighting the sting of tears, Kara carefully reached forward and untied the soggy knot of cloth at the back of Lena’s head. She pulled the gag free and tossed it aside.

Lena sucked in a harsh breath, moaning as feeling returned to her jaw. “Ka...ra...?” she rasped, voice barely above a whisper. She winced—her throat was dry and raw from disuse. The syllables of Kara’s name sounded unsure, like she couldn’t reconcile them with the woman in front of her.

“It’s me,” Kara crooned softly. She moved behind the chair, fingers fumbling at the ropes biting into Lena’s wrists. Her own hands were sticky with another man’s blood; she tried not to think about it as she worked the knot. “I’m here, Lena. I’ve got you,” she repeated in a trembling murmur. The heavy rope finally gave, and Lena’s arms fell slack. The coarse hemp had chafed her skin raw; Lena’s wrists were sticky with blood from her futile struggles. Lena let out a choked sob of relief as her arms came free. Kara quickly stepped back around to crouch before her, steadying Lena’s freed hands in her own. Lena’s fingers were like ice, trembling violently.

Up close, Lena’s condition was even more heartbreaking. Her breathing came in shallow pants and tears had cut clean tracks through the grime on her cheeks. She blinked rapidly, as if still not sure whether she was awake or caught in some hellish dream. Kara’s soul ached at the sight. Gently, she brushed a sweat-damp strand of hair from Lena’s face.

“It’s over. You’re safe,” Kara whispered, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She glanced down and saw the duct tape wound around Lena’s ankles. With one sharp tug, she tore it loose. Lena hissed as circulation flooded back into her legs. Kara eased the tape away, wincing at the angry red rings it left on Lena’s skin. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Just a second more...”

As soon as Lena’s legs were free, Kara slid the chair back and lowered Lena carefully onto the concrete floor. “Easy,” Kara murmured, supporting Lena’s weight. Lena slumped against her without resistance, a broken rag doll in Kara’s arms. Kara cradled her, one arm around Lena’s back, the other hand coming up to cup the back of Lena’s head. She felt the sticky warmth of blood in Lena’s dark hair and bit back a fresh surge of rage. Focus. Lena was here, alive, in her arms. That was all that mattered in this moment.

For a few precious seconds, Lena melted into Kara’s embrace. She buried her face against Kara’s shoulder, her body wracked with tiny shivers. Kara held her close, heart in her throat. She could feel Lena’s racing pulse against her own chest. The relief nearly knocked Kara dizzy. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek atop Lena’s crown. “I’ve got you,” she repeated, voice a fragile hush. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, I promise.” The words poured out in a rush—a vow and a plea all at once.

Kara’s arms tightened around Lena of their own accord. “I’m so sorry, Lena,” she choked out in a broken whisper, bowing her head over Lena’s. “I-I’m sorry...”

Something in that cracked apology seemed to snap Lena out of her daze. Her body, which had gone limp with relief, suddenly tensed. Kara felt Lena’s palms on her chest, at first clutching weakly at her jacket—then pushing. Kara loosened her hold at once, drawing back just enough to see Lena’s face.

Lena lifted her head with obvious effort. Her eyes, vivid green even in the dim light, fixed on Kara’s. They were flooded with tears... and a swelling anger beneath the tears. Kara’s stomach dropped. Lena knows. Of course she knows. Kara had taken down six men like a combat operative, not a hapless writer. The truth was written in blood all over Kara’s uniform and bared in the lethal grace of her movements. Kara felt a tremor run through Lena—not from cold or pain now, but from simmering fury.

The two women stared at each other in the half-dark, the distant wail of sirens starting to pierce the silence. It was as if the ground beneath Lena had given way. The Kara she cared for—maybe even loved—was a stranger, a fabrication. And that stranger was crouched before her now, drenched in blood and looking at her with shattered, desperate eyes. Lena realised with a stab of anguish that the gentle, compassionate Kara she thought she knew might never have been real at all.

Lena’s entire body was shaking as she mustered the strength to speak. Kara hovered anxiously, one hand hovering near Lena’s shoulder as if afraid to touch her again without permission. In the distance, sirens were fast approaching, red-blue lights beginning to strobe through the broken windows. Dark-clad agents would be swarming in any second. But inside this pool of lamplight, it might as well have been only the two of them, utterly alone in the aftermath of all the lies.

Lena’s throat worked, her voice raw. She had so many questions—Why? Who are you? What have you done with my Kara? But when she opened her mouth, only one question escaped, torn from the deepest recess of her broken heart.

“Who,” Lena whispered, her tone trembling with rage and heartbreak, “are you?”

The words echoed through the empty warehouse, sharp and wounded. Lena’s chest heaved with each laboured breath as she stared at Kara—this woman she had trusted above all others, now rendered unrecognisable. Hot tears blurred Lena’s vision, but she kept her eyes on Kara, demanding an answer.

Kara paled. Her lips parted soundlessly. She looked as if she’d been struck. In her eyes warred a thousand emotions—grief, guilt, love, shame—none of which gave Lena the simple truth she craved. Kara tried to speak, a strangled sound catching in her throat. But before she could utter a word, the growing thump of boots and shouts of “Clear!” announced the arrival of DEO backup.

A wave of armed agents poured into the warehouse, sweeping their rifles methodically. Their flashlight beams cut stark arcs through the dust-choked air. Voices barked—“Area secure!” “Medic, over here!”—as they fanned out. Lena heard them dimly, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Kara’s devastated face. The world around them felt distant and dreamlike; her entire universe had narrowed to this single, excruciating moment.

Kara started to rise, half-turning as if to intercept the newcomers and shield Lena once more. Lena seized what little strength she had left and pushed weakly at Kara’s chest, asserting a sliver of space between them. A fresh stab of agony flared through her ribs at the motion, but she ignored it. Kara froze under Lena’s trembling hand, her blue eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

The warehouse was suddenly awash in harsh white light as agents with torches converged. Still, neither woman looked away from the other. Blood roared in Lena’s ears. Her heart felt like it might burst from hurt and fury. She saw Kara—the real Kara—clearly for the first time, illuminated by gun-mounted lights and the glare of reality. The skilled fighter. The liar. The protector and the betrayer, all in one trembling figure.

Hands hovering just shy of Lena’s arms, Kara whispered, “Lena, I—” But her voice failed, the words strangled by emotion.

Lena’s vision swam with tears as she mustered the last of her courage. She had to hear it, had to hear Kara say the words that would shatter whatever remained of her heart. Her voice shook as she asked again, louder this time despite the quaver: “Who are you?”

Kara’s eyes glistened as a tear finally spilled free, carving a path down her cheek through the grime and blood. She opened her mouth, anguish written in every line of her face. But in that charged heartbeat, she found no answer—only silence. The question hung between them, a jagged chasm of truth waiting to be crossed.

Lena’s chest constricted. The gentle hum of medics and agents swirled at the edges of her awareness, but she paid them no mind. All that mattered was the broken woman before her and the lie that lay bare between them. Lena’s voice dropped to a whisper, her words cutting through the ringing in Kara’s ears.

“Who are you?” she demanded once more, each word trembling with betrayal.

Kara Danvers—if that was even her name—could only stare back, eyes brimming with sorrow and a love Lena wasn’t sure she could believe in anymore. In the stark flood of torchlight and truth, Lena trembled in Kara’s arms, waiting for an answer that never came. Instead, only the echo of her question lingered in the frigid night air, unanswered as the world closed in around them.

“Who are you?”

Chapter Text

Night air flooded Lena’s lungs as she stumbled out of the warehouse, her body weak from captivity and her mind reeling. Broken glass and concrete dust crunched under her heels. Kara’s arm was around her, steadying her, but Lena yanked herself free the instant they cleared the threshold. A few yards away, a streetlamp cast a pale orange halo over the desolate lot. In its light Lena finally looked at the woman beside her—the woman who had just dispatched a squad of armed kidnappers with ruthless efficiency, the woman who moved like a soldier, not a storyteller. The woman she had trusted with everything.

Lena’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t the chill of the London night causing the tremor, but adrenaline and raw betrayal. Her mouth tasted of blood and bitterness. Kara was watching her warily, chest heaving from exertion, blonde hair disheveled and streaked with soot. There was a smear of someone else’s blood across Kara’s temple and a darkness in her eyes that Lena had never seen before. Who is this person? Lena’s heart slammed against her ribs, a dull ache radiating from where one of her captors had kicked her. She barely felt the pain. She felt nothing but the hot, hollow sensation opening up under her sternum.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy as lead, broken only by Lena’s ragged breathing. Kara took a tentative step closer, her hands half-raised as if she wasn’t sure whether to reach out or keep her distance. In that hesitant motion, Lena saw a flicker of the Kara she thought she knew—gentle, concerned, pretend. A jagged lump rose in Lena’s throat.

“Lena,” Kara began softly, her voice hoarse. “I—I can explain. I promise. But… not here.” She cast a quick glance around them, eyes scanning the shadows as if new dangers might emerge. “Let me get you home first. Please.”

Home. The word felt foreign, almost laughable. Lena didn’t even know what home meant at this point—her safe places were no longer safe, not when even the sanctuary of Kara’s arms had been built on a lie. A hot retort surged up, but it tangled in the tightness of her throat. She tasted salt and realized tears had slipped down her cheeks without permission. She hurried to wipe them away with the back of her hand, swaying on her feet.

Kara moved as if to support her again, and Lena instinctively jerked back. “Don’t.” The single word came out sharp, blade-like. Kara froze. In the dim light, her face crumpled, anguish pooling in those blue eyes. Good, Lena thought bitterly. Let her hurt. Let her feel even a fraction of this.

For a second Lena just stared, chest rising and falling in uneven, furious breaths. Her mind was a storm: fragments of the past few weeks whirling with new, sinister clarity. Kara’s uncanny reflexes, her evasive answers, the way she always showed up exactly when danger stalked close. The surveillance bug in Lena’s lab—God, she’d found it and panicked, and Kara had been right there to comfort her… of course she was. You knew something was wrong, a voice in Lena’s head screamed. You knew, and you ignored it.

Lena’s vision blurred again, this time with hot anger at herself as much as at the woman before her. She drew a breath that shuddered on the way out. “Who…” Her voice cracked, and she had to clench her jaw, steadying it. “Who are you?”

Kara’s eyes went wide. In the orange glow, Lena saw Kara’s lips part, but no sound came out. Kara opened her mouth to answer, to say something—anything—but nothing came. The silence was an answer in itself. Lena let out a short, disbelieving laugh that tasted of iron. She wrapped her arms around her own aching body, trying to hold herself together.

“That’s what I thought,” she whispered brokenly. Each word trembled with the effort not to scream. “You can’t even tell me.” Lena forced herself to meet Kara’s gaze head-on. “The truth, Kara. I deserve that much. Who are you—really?”

Kara flinched as if slapped. “I… I’m still me,” she said, so softly it was almost drowned by the distant wail of sirens in the city night. “Lena, I never wanted to lie to you.” There it was—said with such quiet pleading that for an instant Lena almost felt the crack in her own armor widen, almost felt the urge to either scream or collapse into sobs. But fury held her upright.

She threw Kara’s words back at her like poison. “But you did anyway.” Lena’s voice was cold now, each syllable enunciated, controlled—an icy veneer over the devastation beneath. “You lied to my face, day after day. So forgive me if I don’t particularly care what you wanted to do.”

Kara’s eyes brimmed, reflecting the dull light. Lena saw a tear slip free, cutting through the grime on Kara’s cheek. It only stoked her anger further. Kara was crying? Kara was crying? How dare she—

Another distant sound cut through the charged silence: the crunch of tires on gravel. Lena’s head snapped toward it. In the distance, beyond the pool of lamplight, she saw headlights approaching fast. Reinforcements? Police? Whoever it was, she didn’t want to face them. She didn’t want to face anyone. She could barely stand to face Kara, and she certainly wasn’t about to share this catastrophic unravelling with strangers.

Kara followed her gaze and inhaled sharply. “That’ll be my team…” she murmured. “Lena, we need to go.” She stepped forward, reaching gently for Lena’s elbow.

Lena wrenched herself away, hate and hurt twisting in her gut. “Your team,” she repeated, nearly spitting the words. “Of course. Can’t ruin the mission, can we?”

“Please,” Kara begged, voice fracturing. “Let me take you home. I’ll explain everything—I swear. But not here.”

Some part of Lena recognized the urgency—if it was the authorities or Kara’s colleagues, there would be questions, chaos. She didn’t have the strength for it. Hell, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to walk to the car. A tremor of exhaustion cut through her adrenaline. Later, she would despise herself for it, but in that moment Lena allowed Kara to guide her by the arm. Kara’s touch was careful, barely there, as if Lena were something that could break. I’m already broken, Lena thought numbly. And you did that.

She said nothing as Kara helped her into the passenger seat of a black DEO jeep that had been stashed behind the building. The drive passed in silence so thick it was suffocating. Kara’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel; she kept glancing over, but Lena refused to look at her. Instead, Lena fixed her gaze out the window, watching streetlights streak by in a hazy blur. Her mind churned over memories now tainted: Kara smiling over coffee the day they met; Kara’s fingers laced with hers during a late-night walk by the Thames; Kara’s body warm and safe as they lay tangled in Lena’s bed, whispering soft comforts to chase away each other’s nightmares. Every single moment, a lie.

She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning her head against the cool glass. A flashback seized her: that terrible instant inside the warehouse when Kara burst in like an avenging angel. Lena had been on her knees, blood dripping from a cut on her brow, vision tunneling. She thought she was going to die. Then out of nowhere, Kara appeared—no, not out of nowhere, she reminded herself—she was never really gone. And in a blur, Kara took down man after man, disarming them with uncanny skill. Lena could still hear the crack of bone when Kara had slammed the last man’s head into the concrete floor. In that moment Lena’s heart had splintered: relief at being saved collided with the sickening realization that the woman she’d fallen for was a stranger.

Kara’s voice from the driver’s seat pulled Lena back to the present. “You should go to the hospital,” Kara said quietly. It was the first break in silence between them. “Your ribs… and your forehead, it’s still bleeding—”

Lena’s eyes snapped open. The audacity of Kara’s concern made her want to scream. She turned to face Kara’s profile in the dark cabin of the jeep. “Don’t pretend to care about my health right now.” Her tone could have frozen fire.

Kara’s jaw tightened. She didn’t respond, just pressed her lips together and kept driving. In the dim glow of the dashboard, her face was stark—eyes red-rimmed, tears drying in tracks down her cheeks. Lena caught herself staring at that evidence of Kara’s sorrow and quickly looked away, cursing under her breath. She doesn’t get to cry. She doesn’t get to feel anything. Not after what she’s done.

When they finally pulled up to Lena’s townhouse, the ride had done nothing to cool the blaze inside her. If anything, each passing minute of silence had stoked it hotter. Kara killed the engine. The sudden absence of vibration made Lena aware of every throb of pain in her body: her wrists raw from rope burn, the sharp ache in her side, the pounding in her skull. She forced herself out of the jeep before Kara could try to help her. Her legs nearly buckled on the curb. Instantly, Kara was at her side, one hand hovering at Lena’s back in case she fell. Lena hated that her body betrayed her by leaning a fraction into that steady presence. She caught herself and straightened, shrugging Kara off for what felt like the hundredth time.

“I’m fine,” she insisted through clenched teeth. The keys to her front door were still in her purse—miraculously returned to her by Kara during the drive. Lena’s fingers fumbled with the lock; after a second, the door clicked open. She stepped inside without waiting to see if Kara would follow, though of course she did. Kara’s heavy boots scraped over the threshold right behind her, an unwanted shadow.

Lena didn’t bother turning on all the lights. She hit one switch in the foyer, enough to cast a low glow down the hall. The familiar scents of home—lavender and old books—welcomed her, but tonight they felt lifeless. She paused in the entryway, her back to Kara as she closed the door. For a beat, they just stood there in the hush of the house. The quiet felt different here, thicker. This was the place where Lena had first let Kara sleep over, where they’d shared whispered midnight conversations and stolen kisses. Now it might as well have been a stranger’s home with a stranger standing behind her.

Lena drew a slow breath, steadying herself against a wave of dizziness. She could feel Kara’s gaze boring into her back, brimming with concern that Lena refused to trust. Gathering her resolve, Lena turned to face Kara at last.

Kara hovered near the door, uncertainty written in every line of her body. In the faint light, Lena saw her more clearly: the torn sleeve of Kara’s blouse, the purple bruise blooming on her forearm, the dried blood spattered across one side of her collar. Lena swallowed. This woman before her was not the bumbling, bookish writer who had charmed her way into Lena’s guarded life. This woman was someone else—someone Lena might never have let past her door, had she known.

Kara opened her mouth, perhaps to ask if Lena wanted to sit or needed water, but Lena cut her off. Enough. They were here now, alone. No more stalling.

“You said you’d explain everything,” Lena said, voice low and steely. She braced a hand against the console table in the hallway to keep her balance and fixed Kara with an unwavering stare. “So start talking.”

Kara flinched at the tone. She closed her mouth, then nodded once. “Okay.” She ran a shaking hand through her hair, and Lena noticed her fingers trembled too. Kara drew in a breath. “I work for an organization called the DEO—Danvers Elite Operators. We handle private security and intelligence cases.” Her words were halting, careful. “About two months ago… we received intel that your life was in danger. A credible threat. I was assigned to protect you.”

Lena’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Each sentence Kara spoke was like another punch to the gut. “Assigned to protect me,” she repeated bitterly. The puzzle pieces clicked together with horrifying clarity: the chance meeting at the coffee shop, Kara’s uncanny timing at every crisis, her knowing exactly how to fight and where to be. None of it was coincidence. All of it was calculated.

Kara took a tentative step forward, palms open in a placating gesture. “Lena, I know how it sounds… but I didn’t want it to happen like this. I was just trying to keep you safe.”

Lena let out a bark of laughter that held no humor. “Safe?” Her voice rose, echoing faintly down the empty hallway. “You think I feel safe right now?” She pressed a hand against her sternum, as if she could hold back the pain with sheer force. “You violated my trust, my privacy—my entire life—for some assignment. How dare you stand there and tell me it was for my safety.”

Kara’s face crumpled. “If I’d told you the truth, you would have pushed me away. You made it clear you didn’t want security watching over you—”

“You’re damn right I didn’t!” Lena snapped. “I told Jack, I told everyone: I don’t want a bodyguard. And you… you decided to become one anyway, just without my consent.” She spat out the words without my consent like they were venom. “You watched me, infiltrated my life under false pretenses. Do you have any idea how—” Her voice choked off and she shook her head, fighting for composure. “Of course you do. This is what you do, isn’t it? Sneak into people’s lives and pretend to be their friend, their—” She stopped herself before she said lover, a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over her.

Kara’s eyes shimmered. “It wasn’t like that,” she whispered. “Not with you. Lena, I never wanted to hurt y—”

“Stop saying that!” Lena’s control slipped, her tone slicing through the air. “God, just stop. You keep saying you didn’t want to lie, you didn’t want to hurt me. But that didn’t stop you, did it? You looked me in the eye every single day and lied. You slept in my bed and let me… let me hold you, and you were lying the whole time!” Her throat burned as the words poured out, each one sharpened by betrayal. “Was any of it real? Any of it at all?”

The question hung between them. Kara’s breath hitched. “Yes,” she said, voice cracking. “It was real for me. Every moment… everything I felt—”

Lena recoiled as if she’d been slapped. A scalding tear finally escaped the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek. She dashed it away angrily. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare try to make this sound like it was some kind of romance.” Her voice quavered despite her efforts to keep it steady. “You don’t get to rewrite what this was. You had a mission. I was the objective. So don’t stand there and tell me your feelings were real.”

Kara’s lips trembled. “They were. Lena, I swear—”

“Were they?” Lena let out a shaky breath and took a step forward, pressing the advantage of Kara’s guilt. She was running on raw emotion now, pain and fury driving her past exhaustion. “Tell me, is Kara Danvers even your real name?”

A flash of hurt crossed Kara’s face. “Yes. It’s my real name,” she answered softly. “I lied about… about my job, about why I was in your life. But I—who I am—” She stopped, struggling for words. “I’m the same person you cooked dinner with, who laughed at your bad science puns, who held you when you had that nightmare about falling… I’m still her.”

Lena’s chest constricted. The memory of that night stabbed through her: she’d woken from a rare nightmare in a cold sweat, and Kara had been right there, pulling her close, stroking her hair, murmuring that she was safe. Safe. The word was a cruel joke now. Kara’s embrace that night had felt like the safest place on earth—and it had all been built on a lie. Lena’s vision blurred with tears she refused to shed freely. She hardened her gaze. “The woman I let into my life wouldn’thave deceived me like this. The woman I… I thought I cared for did not exist. So don’t you dare tell me you’re the same person. You’re not. I don’t even know who you are.”

That struck deep; Lena saw Kara flinch as if each syllable were a blow. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the tick of the hall clock and their uneven breathing. Lena realized her fingernails were digging crescents into her palms and forced herself to unclench her fists. Her entire body was shaking now—whether from anger, heartbreak, or sheer fatigue, she couldn’t tell.

Kara swallowed hard. She looked down at her boots, stained with dust and blood, and spoke in a thin, hurt voice. “You have every right to be furious. I know I broke your trust. I… I can’t change what I did. I can’t take it back.” She raised her eyes, shining with tears that finally spilled over. “But please believe me: I never wanted to make you feel betrayed. Everything I said to you, everything we—”

“Stop.” Lena held up a hand, the gesture wobbly but enough to silence Kara’s plea. She couldn’t bear to hear any more, not right now. Each word from Kara—no, from this agent, this imposter—felt like sandpaper against an open wound. And worse, part of Lena was tempted to believe her, to fall into those tearful blue eyes and find some excuse, some reasoning that might dull the pain. But there was no excuse for this. Kara had taken from her the most precious thing Lena could give: her trust. And Lena didn’t know if she could ever get it back.

She took a slow step backward, needing more distance. Kara instantly tensed, as if ready to spring forward if Lena stumbled. The constant readiness, the vigilant posture—it was all second nature to her, wasn’t it? Lena almost laughed at how blind she’d been. All those times I caught her watching the door instead of enjoying the moment… the way she always positioned herself between me and a crowd… She’d noticed it, and each time Kara had charmed her with a shy smile or a gentle distraction, and Lena had dismissed the thought that Kara might be anything more than a naturally protective friend. You fool, she berated herself silently. You absolute fool.

“I told you,” Lena said softly, a cold, haunted softness, “that I don’t trust easily.” She saw Kara’s face crumple further at the reminder. Yes, Lena had bared that vulnerability one quiet night, gazing at the stars from her balcony with Kara by her side. “And do you remember what you told me? You promised you wouldn’t be the next person to betray me.” Her voice hitched, and she forced it into something hard and flat. “Congratulations, Kara. You broke that promise spectacularly.”

Kara’s eyes shut in pain, tears slipping down. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I am. I am so sorry, Lena.”

Sorcery. Kara’s voice, saying her name like that—warm, reverent, pleading—it was a spell that almost worked on the shattered parts of Lena’s heart. Sorry. The word ricocheted inside her. Sorry wouldn’t unlive the hours of terror she’d felt when those men grabbed her. Sorry wouldn’t erase the sight of Kara snapping a man’s arm like a twig or the sickening understanding that followed. And sorry sure as hell wouldn’t put the ground back under her feet now that it had been ripped away.

Lena drew herself up, mustering whatever scraps of dignity and resolve she had left. “You’re sorry,” she echoed, tone ice cold. “Wonderful. You can take your apologies and go.” Her voice wavered only at the very end, betraying just a fracture of the devastation inside her.

Kara looked stricken. She took one step forward, desperate, hands out. “Lena, please—”

“No.” Lena lifted her chin, steeling herself. She would not be swayed by quivering lips and sorrowful eyes. She couldn’t. If she let herself soften now, she knew she would break completely. “You don’t get to ‘please’ me. Not now. You got me home. I’m safe.” The word fell bitterly. “Mission accomplished. There’s nothing more for you to do here.”

Kara’s breath shuddered on the inhale. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but one look at Lena’s stony expression and she seemed to think better of it. Instead, Kara nodded faintly. Resignation, or defeat, bled the last color from her face.

An ache speared through Lena’s chest at the sight, unexpected and cruel. She hated that even now, even after everything, a part of her wanted to reach out and comfort her, wipe away Kara’s tears, tell her it’d be okay. But it wouldn’t be okay. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

Lena’s eyes drifted to the front door, and she moved toward it on unsteady legs. Kara stepped aside to let her pass in the narrow hall. Neither woman spoke as Lena grasped the doorknob. Her knuckles were bloodless, taut with suppressed emotion. She pulled the door open, the night breeze immediately whispering in.

Kara stood there, just a pace away, looking broken and small in the doorway of Lena’s home. Lena met her gaze one last time. She tried to ignore the tears shining in Kara’s eyes, tried to ignore the way her own soul screamed at her to not let this be the end. Instead, she clung to her anger, her betrayal, because it was the only thing holding her together.

“Leave,” Lena said, and the finality in her voice cut like glass. It wasn’t a shout, nor a plea. It was an order, cool and precise. A stranger’s voice coming from her own throat. She saw Kara flinch at the word as if it physically struck her. For a heartbeat, Kara hesitated, her gaze searching Lena’s face—maybe for some sign of relent, some crack in the armor. She wouldn’t find any. Lena’s features were smooth, cold, a perfect mask over the anguish beneath.

Kara’s throat bobbed. She inhaled unsteadily. “If… if you need anything—” she began, barely above a whisper.

A flash of anger tore through Lena, and her composure almost slipped. “What I need,” she managed, each word like ice, “is for you to go.” She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t stand here and bleed in front of Kara any longer.

Kara’s face crumpled, but she nodded. Lena watched, silent and aching, as Kara stepped over the threshold back into the night. For a moment, Kara lingered on the stoop, her eyes glistening and desperate—an apology, a longing, a thousand unsaid words in them. Lena said nothing. She had nothing left to say. She had given her verdict.

At last, Kara dropped her gaze, shoulders slumping in defeat. She turned and walked down the steps. Each footfall on the stone steps rang hollowly. Lena remained in the doorway, spine straight, one hand gripping the edge of the door so hard her fingers went numb. Kara paused at the bottom, as if fighting the urge to look back. Then she continued down the path and into the darkness beyond the gate, her form dissolving into the night.

Lena stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty street where moments ago Kara had stood. The cool air curled around her, carrying the distant sounds of the city—so alive, so normal, as if her world hadn’t just ended. Finally, with a trembling breath, Lena stepped back and shut the door. The soft click of the latch echoed in the silence of her foyer.

Her hand stayed on the doorknob for a second as she pressed her forehead against the wood. The last of her strength went out of her in that moment. Kara was gone. A broken sob clawed its way up Lena’s throat, but she swallowed it down, letting only a single strangled gasp escape into the darkness. She would not cry. Not yet. Not while the scent of Kara’s leather jacket still hung in the air, not while the ghost of everything they’d been lingered in these halls. Lena drew in a shaky breath, straightened, and wiped at her eyes with vicious efficiency.

Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes softly. Lena turned the lock on the door—an almost pointless act, given that the greatest threat had already been inside and had just walked out. Her eyes burned, and her chest felt hollow, carved out. She pressed a hand over her heart as if to cradle the breakage there.

In the silence, Lena Luthor stood alone in the ruins of trust, fighting the urge to collapse. She had delivered her words with icy finality, and Kara had obeyed. But as Lena backed away from the door, a stifled sob finally shivered through her, betraying the truth: that behind the cold mask she’d shown Kara, she was utterly devastated.

She was safe now—Kara had said so. The threat was over. Yet Lena had never felt more vulnerable and hurt in her life. And tonight, in the dark emptiness of her home, she had never felt more alone.

Chapter Text

Who are you?

The question still rang in Kara Danvers’ ears, hours after Lena had hurled those words at her in the dark. It echoed in every quiet moment, seared into her memory like a brand. Kara squeezed her eyes shut as she walked through the sterile corridors of the DEO, but she couldn’t blink the image away: Lena’s face, pale and streaked with blood and betrayal, her green eyes sharp with hurt. Who are you? Lena had demanded, voice trembling with anger and something far worse—devastation.

Now, in the stark fluorescent light of the early morning, Kara had no answer. She wasn’t sure she knew who she was anymore either.

Her boots scuffed dully against the tiled floor. The usually bustling operations centre of Danvers Elite Operators was eerily quiet at this hour, save for the distant hum of servers and the low murmur of a few agents finishing up the night’s debrief. Kara drifted past them like a ghost. A couple of heads turned as she passed—Lucy Lane and another field agent stood by the conference room, their conversation halting as they caught sight of Kara’s state. Kara noted their eyes widening at the sight of her: the torn sleeve of her tactical suit, the dried blood (someone’s, she wasn’t even sure whose) splattered across her collar, the absent look in her eyes. She gave them nothing in return. No nod, no word. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she feared something might come out—a sob, a scream, she didn’t know which.

She kept moving.

In her hand, she still clutched Lena’s tablet. It was a slim glassy rectangle, now cracked. It had been knocked from Lena’s grasp during the struggle, and Kara had wordlessly scooped it up in the aftermath. A pointless salvage, maybe. Lena likely wouldn’t want anything from her now. But Kara couldn’t leave it behind in that warehouse, just like she couldn’t leave any part of Lena behind. So she’d brought it—an offering, an apology, or perhaps just a reminder of the trust she’d shattered.

A sharp ache flared in Kara’s shoulder as she pushed open the door to a small side office—her own temporary workspace at the DEO’s London hub. The adrenaline that fueled her through the rescue had long since ebbed, and now every bruise and strain made itself known. She shut the door softly behind her, sealing herself into solitude. In the dimness, lit only by the streetlamp glow filtering through the blinds, Kara finally allowed her composure to slip.

Her knees hit the edge of the desk, and she braced herself against it, dropping the broken tablet onto the cluttered surface. In the faint reflection of the dark computer monitor, she caught a glimpse of herself—a stranger in her own skin. Her usually neat blonde hair hung in disarray, half-pulled from its braid. A streak of dried blood smeared across her cheekbone, trailing towards her jaw. Her eyes looked haunted, ringed by exhaustion and something hollow.

Who are you?

Kara’s breath hitched. She tore her gaze away from the phantom in the screen and instead stared down at her hands. They were trembling. Her knuckles were raw and split from where she’d punched one of Lena’s captors hard enough to feel bone give. The memory flashed behind her eyelids without warning—

A flash of memory overwhelmed her: her fist colliding with a man’s jaw—a sickening crunch and his shout of pain. Warm blood splattering across her skin. Lena bound to a chair, a gag in her mouth, eyes wide with fear as she watched Kara move with lethal precision. The deafening rattle of gunfire as Kara shot the last man before he could hurt Lena. Lena’s voice, cracked and disbelieving: “Kara…?” And then, that final, devastating question: Who are you? Kara flinched, her eyes snapping open. She was back in the dark office, heart hammering as if she were still in that warehouse where everything had fallen apart.

A light knock sounded at the door. Kara swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. “What?” she rasped out, barely loud enough to be heard.

The door opened, flooding in a wedge of light from the hallway. Alex Danvers stepped in, her silhouette crisp in the doorway before she closed it gently behind her. In the low light, Alex’s face was drawn with concern, her dark eyes tracking over Kara in a quick assessment—lingering on the blood on her clothes, the bruises purpling along her forearms, the vacant expression Kara knew she wore.

“Hey,” Alex said softly, approaching as one might a skittish animal. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Kara forced herself to stand upright, pulling away from the desk. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine,” she managed. The words came out rote, empty. They both knew it was a lie.

Alex’s lips pressed into a thin line. She moved to Kara’s side, and in the dim glow Kara could see her sister more clearly: Alex’s short-cropped hair was mussed, and she was still in tactical gear as well, likely having scrambled alongside the backup team when the mission went south. There was a small cut on Alex’s brow that had been hastily bandaged—collateral of the chaos. Kara’s stomach twisted at that; her decisions tonight had put more than one person she loved in danger.

“I just spoke with the med team,” Alex said, still in that gentle tone. “They said you walked out before they could finish checking you over.” She nodded at Kara’s shoulder. “You might have torn something there. Can I take a look?”

Kara shook her head stiffly. “It’s nothing. Just… sore.”

Alex’s hand hovered near Kara’s upper arm, not quite touching. “Kara.”

That single word—her name, weighted with worry—almost undid her. Kara felt the pressure of tears burning behind her eyes, threatening to rise. She tensed every muscle she could, holding herself rigid to keep it all inside. She had to. If she let go even for an instant, she wasn’t sure she would ever stop.

Alex stepped closer until she was within arm’s reach. “Kara, talk to me,” she urged quietly. “Please.”

Talk? How could she possibly talk about the tornado tearing her up inside? Kara’s jaw worked, but no sound came.

In the silence, Alex’s eyes fell on the fractured tablet lying on the desk. Understanding dawned in her expression. “Is that Lena’s?” she asked.

Kara nodded, barely perceptible. Her throat felt tight as a vise.

Alex inhaled slowly. “Is Lena…?”

“She’s safe,” Kara whispered. Saying it aloud felt foreign and yet a relief: Lena was safe. Alive. Kara had made sure of that much, at least. “We got her out.”

Alex’s shoulders eased a fraction, tension she’d been holding since the op starting to release. But Kara stayed rigid.

Alex glanced at the door, as if ensuring they were alone, then said in a lower voice, “And her identity exposure? Did she see—?”

“She knows,” Kara croaked. There was no point sugarcoating it. “She knows I’m… not who I said I was.”

Not a struggling writer. Not an innocent friend who just stumbled into her life. A liar. A fraud. Possibly no better, in Lena’s mind, than the people who had taken her.

Alex closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing that. “Damn,” she murmured. In the dimness, Kara saw Alex clench her jaw, emotion flickering across her face—anger on Kara’s behalf at the situation, pain on Lena’s. “I’m so sorry.”

Kara let out a shuddering breath. She looked down at her feet, at the scuffed tiles. “She was terrified, Alex… of me.” Her voice broke on the last word. The memory of Lena shrinking from her after the fight was like glass in her heart.

Alex moved then, closing the last of the distance between them and wrapping her arms around Kara’s tense frame. The hug took Kara by surprise—she went stiff, then slowly melted against her sister’s familiar warmth. Alex’s embrace was strong, anchoring, and it broke something in Kara—cracks spidering through the ice she’d encased herself in just to get through the last hour.

“She didn’t understand,” Alex murmured near Kara’s ear. “She couldn’t have. It all happened so fast.”

Kara stood rigid in her sister’s arms, hands balled at her sides. “I hurt her,” she forced out. Each word tasted bitter. “She trusted me, and I lied. I hurt her…”

Alex tightened her hold, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Kara’s back. “You also saved her life.” There was fierceness under Alex’s gentle tone now. “Don’t forget that. You saved her, Kara.”

Saved her. The words hung in the air, but they brought Kara no comfort. She thought of Lena’s trembling form once they’d untied her from the chair, how Lena had recoiled when Kara tried to touch her afterward. How the warmth that had once lit Lena’s eyes when she looked at Kara had been snuffed out, replaced by cold, angry hurt. Kara squeezed her eyes shut, a tear finally escaping to trace down her cheek.

“I saved her,” she whispered. Her voice was hollow, heavy with self-loathing. “And I lost her.”

Alex drew back enough to look at Kara’s face. Even in the poor light, the wet streak on Kara’s cheek was evident. Alex’s face fell, as if her heart were breaking right alongside Kara’s.

“You don’t know that,” Alex said softly, lifting a hand to brush the tear away with her thumb. “It’s fresh, she’s in shock. She might come around—”

Kara recoiled at that, stepping out of Alex’s reach. Alex’s hand fell back to her side, her expression pained but patient. Kara shook her head vehemently. “No. Not this time.” Her whole chest felt like an open wound. “You didn’t see her eyes, Alex. She… she looked at me like I was a monster. Like I’d betrayed her completely. Because I did.”

“Kara—”

“I lied to her for weeks,” Kara said, voice rising unsteadily. The dam was cracking, all the emotions she’d held in check starting to spill. “I made her believe I—” She choked on the words was someone I’m not, unable to voice them. “Of course I lost her. She never wants to see me again. And I… I can’t blame her.”

Silence fell between them, thick and aching. Alex’s face was stricken. Kara turned away, scrubbing a hand over her face. She realized her cheeks were wet again; she hadn’t even noticed the tears continuing to fall until now. She wiped them away roughly, frustrated at herself for falling apart when she should be holding it together. What kind of operative was she? What kind of professional breaks down in the middle of HQ, crying over personal feelings?

But then, what kind of professional had she been these past weeks, letting herself fall so deeply in love with her assignment? Some elite agent I turned out to be.

Behind her, Alex exhaled, a long careful sound. “Sit down, Kara,” she urged gently.

“I can’t,” Kara muttered. She couldn’t imagine sitting, resting, doing nothing. The very idea made her skin crawl with restless guilt.

“You’re hurt, and exhausted,” Alex pressed. “Just take a minute, okay? There are still things we need to—”

A knock on the door interrupted her. A muffled voice called through, “Director Danvers? We have initial intel from the site, ma’am.”

Alex glanced from Kara to the door, torn. Kara could see the calculus in her eyes: duty pulling one way, her wrecked sister the other. Kara latched onto that duty. It was easier than facing Alex’s empathy right now.

“Go,” Kara said hoarsely. She cleared her throat and managed a more even tone. “You should handle the debrief. I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

Alex hesitated. “Kara—”

“I just need a minute,” Kara insisted, mustering what she hoped was a convincing look.

A faint doubt lingered in Alex’s eyes, but she gave a small nod. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Kara turned her head away, unable to hold her sister’s gaze any longer without splintering. She heard Alex sigh quietly and then her bootsteps retreat. The door opened and closed, and Kara was alone again.

In the silence, Kara’s words echoed back at her: She never wants to see me again. Speaking it aloud made it all too real. A ragged sob clawed its way up her throat before she could stop it. Kara clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sound into a muffled gasp. No. Not here. She couldn’t break here, where anyone might hear. Her pain had to stay contained, at least until she was truly alone.

With shaking hands, Kara grabbed a half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich that lived in her bottom desk drawer. The scotch had been sitting there untouched for months—she’d put it away when she left behind her worst coping habits. But now the amber liquid promised oblivion, or at least a few hours’ release from the crushing guilt.

She fumbled for a glass but then abandoned that idea. No time, no need. Kara twisted the cap off and took a long, burning swig straight from the bottle. The whisky seared down her throat, spreading warmth through the cold hollow of her chest. It didn’t stop her hands from trembling, but after another pull, the tremors eased marginally, replaced with a familiar numb heat.

Kara, please— Lena’s voice haunted her thoughts again, not from the warehouse but from a different night. A night weeks ago, in Lena’s penthouse, when Kara had awoken from a nightmare of the past and found Lena gently shaking her shoulder. Tell me what’s hurting you, Lena had asked, her tone so tender and concerned as she cradled Kara’s face in the dark. I want to help carry it, if you’ll let me.

Kara squeezed her eyes shut at the memory, a fresh wave of agony crashing over her. Lena had been willing to hold her pain. Lena had cared so much, had given Kara so much grace even knowing there were secrets being kept. And how had Kara repaid her? With lies. With half-truths. With more pain.

“I’m so sorry,” Kara whispered into the empty room, voice shaking. She wasn’t sure who she was apologising to—Lena, Alex, maybe even those ghosts from her past. Apologies to people who weren’t here to hear them. Useless.

Her vision blurred with tears she refused to fully shed. The scotch bottle in her hand was already a quarter lighter. It was working—she could feel the edges of her grief dulling, replaced by a heavy haze. That was good. She didn’t want to feel the full force of this pain. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And yet she couldn’t escape it entirely. Even as she gulped another mouthful, her mind kept cycling back, replaying each fragment of the night with merciless clarity.

She saw Lena struggling as Kara burst into that filthy warehouse, her captor’s arms locked around her. Kara had hesitated— just for an instant upon seeing Lena’s terror. In that heartbeat of distraction, a thug had swung a baton into Kara’s shoulder from behind, exactly where an old scar lay. Pain flared white-hot, but Kara had barely felt it then, adrenaline masking all but a fraction. She’d spun and taken him down with ruthless efficiency—two blows, precise and final. The old wound beneath her tactical vest throbbed even now at the memory, a reminder that she’d been sloppy in her desperation.

Another swallow of whisky. Another memory:

Lena, freed from her bonds, yanking the gag from her mouth. Lena backing away from Kara as if she were more dangerous than any of the criminals in that room. Those emerald eyes, usually so warm when they looked at Kara, now icy and wet with tears of betrayal. “Don’t touch me,” Lena had spat when Kara had reached toward her with shaking hands after holstering her weapon. Kara had frozen in place, gut-punched. She could still feel the echo of those words as if Lena were here now, shouting them again.

Kara lifted the bottle to her lips, only to realise it was empty. She’d drained it completely. Her head swam when she stood upright, and she braced a hand on the desk to steady herself. The empty office lurched and she blinked hard, trying to anchor herself in the present. Focus.

The whisky had taken the sharpest edge off her anguish, but a dull ache persisted at the core of her being. She doubted even an ocean of alcohol could reach that deep. But she wasn’t aiming to drown fully. Just… to float for a while, numbed.

She needed air. The four walls of the office felt like they were closing in, suffocating her with the stench of failure. Kara shrugged on a grey hoodie—one that had been draped over the back of her chair—and tugged it up to hide her dishevelled hair and bloodstained shirt. The hall outside was quieter now; the few agents around were busy in the conference room. Alex was likely debriefing them and planning next steps. Kara didn’t want to face any of them, not in this state. She slipped out through a side exit into the chill London night.

The air outside was cool and damp. A light misty rain had started falling, dotting Kara’s cheeks and mixing with the faint salt of her tears. She pulled the hood lower over her face and started walking with no particular destination in mind. Anywhere but here, anywhere she could be alone with the night.

Her feet eventually took her down a familiar path, through a maze of side streets lit by amber streetlamps. Without fully realising it, she’d headed towards John’s Bar.

Even at this late hour—nearing three in the morning—the bar was open. It never really closed, at least not for the stragglers who needed it. John’s Bar didn’t have a proper name painted on a sign; only the neon outline of a green shamrock and the half-lit word “Pub” in the window announced its purpose. It was, by design, unremarkable. A hole-in-the-wall tucked between a boarded-up bookstore and a shuttered pharmacy, easily missed unless you knew to look. Kara had found it by accident years ago, when pain and whisky were her only friends. In time, it became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she wasn’t an agent or a liar or a broken soldier—she was just another lost soul nursing a drink.

Kara paused outside the door, steadied herself with a breath. She touched the pocket of her hoodie and felt the shape of her phone and a folded piece of paper within—Lena’s broken tablet was too large to carry, but she’d grabbed one other thing from her desk before leaving: a crumpled photograph of her and Lena, taken at a café a couple weeks back. Kara had printed it secretly from a security still—a moment where Lena had been laughing and leaning into Kara’s side, oblivious to the camera. Kara had cherished it in private. Now the thought of it burned, but she couldn’t let it go either. Just like Lena’s tablet, she carried this small piece of what was lost.

With a heavy sigh, Kara pushed into the pub.

Warmth and the smell of stale beer and wood polish enveloped her. The place was nearly empty as expected. A few regulars hunched at one end of the bar, and a familiar old jukebox in the corner murmured a slow blues tune under its breath. Kara slid onto her usual stool at the opposite end, far from the other patrons. The seat seemed to remember her, fitting the curve of her body as she slumped forward, elbows on the bar.

John himself stood behind the counter, drying a glass with a clean rag. He looked up, and his eyes widened just a fraction in recognition. John was a tall, broad-shouldered man with skin of deep bronze and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. Tonight, he wore a worn black T-shirt and an expression of calm attentiveness. Those thoughtful brown eyes of his flicked over Kara, no doubt taking in everything: the bruises half-hidden under her sleeves, the damp tracks on her cheeks, the unsteady way she held herself.

“You’re out late,” John rumbled in his low baritone, accent tinged with the Caribbean lilt that softened his words.

Kara huffed a breath that might have been a bitter laugh. “Or early,” she replied, her voice rasping from crying and alcohol. She lowered the hood from her head—no point keeping it on now that she was safely in the shadows of the pub. “Depends on your point of view.”

John’s keen gaze never left her. He set the dried glass down and, without another word, reached for a bottle on a high shelf. He knew her well enough by now not to waste time asking what she wanted. The answer was written in her eyes.

A moment later, a glass appeared before her, filled with two fingers of amber liquid. Scotch, neat. Another Islay single malt, by the smell—Laphroaig maybe. John always did have good taste in the poison he served.

Kara wrapped her fingers around the glass. It was a silent permission to stay, to drink, to let the world outside fall away. John gave her that space and Kara was grateful.

Her first sip was small, letting the peat-smoke flavour roll over her tongue. It burned going down, a welcome sting. The second sip she tossed back faster, needing more of that burn to cauterise the wound inside her. The warmth bloomed in her belly, strong and spreading.

For a time, neither of them spoke. John moved a few steps down the bar to rinse another glass, affording her the illusion of privacy while still keeping a watchful eye. That was his way—present but unobtrusive. In the dim mirror behind the bar, she could see him glancing at her occasionally, as if assessing whether she was ready to talk or needed more time.

Kara stared into her drink, swirling it so that the liquid lapped at the sides. Her mind felt slow and feverish all at once—slow from whisky, feverish from the images that refused to leave her. Even here, in this quiet haven, she couldn’t escape the thoughts clinging to her like shadows.

A flash of Lena’s face in the dim light, the hurt in her eyes.
Kara, I see the real you… Lena had told her once, in bed on a sunlit morning as she gently stroked the scar on Kara’s shoulder. I may not know everything, but I see you. Kara had almost believed it then. But in that warehouse, Lena had seen a side of Kara she never wanted to show, and it had shattered everything.

Kara’s throat constricted. She downed the rest of the whisky in one go, hissing a little at the sharp hit.

The clink of John setting aside another glass made her look up. He had moved closer again.

He picked up the bottle. “Another?” he asked, neutral.

Kara paused, then gave a single, curt nod. “Leave the bottle,” she muttered, surprised at how rough her voice sounded. She hadn’t spoken aloud since leaving the DEO.

John’s eyebrows lifted a millimetre. That was a larger request than usual—she rarely went for more than a couple glasses unless she was in a truly dark state. But he obliged. He poured her a second round, then left the bottle within her reach.

He leaned on the bar across from her, large forearms resting on the polished wood. “I heard something on the late news,” he said casually, keeping his tone conversational. “About gunshots near the Thames Industrial Park tonight. Police found a few unmarked vans, some men tied up like presents for the bobbies to collect.” His eyes searched her face knowingly. “Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Kara managed a faint, humourless smirk. Leave it to John to already have a whiff of what went down. The DEO’s work often ended that way—loose ends handed to official authorities without explanation. “Might,” she replied softly. “If the news also said a woman was saved from those men.”

“It did.” John nodded. “Early reports said hostage situation resolved by anonymous tip. Sounded like one hell of a brawl happened first, though.” He nodded at her bruised hand where it wrapped around the glass. “Looks like you went through the wars tonight.”

Kara flexed her fingers reflexively. Her knuckles still smarted. She wondered how much of the violence she should admit to—John wasn’t squeamish, and he understood her line of work to an extent, but she rarely burdened him with details. Still, the whisky in her veins and the devastation in her heart eroded her usual restraint.

“It went bad,” she said flatly. “Worse than bad.” She stared at the golden liquid in her glass. “My cover blew up. The person I was protecting… they found out everything in the worst way possible.”

John let out a slow breath and straightened, drawing a bit closer. Sympathy etched lines in his aged face. “Ah, Kara,” he sighed, his tone one of knowing sorrow. “I had a feeling. When you took that job—undercover again after all these years—I worried what it might do to you.”

She swallowed hard, not trusting herself to reply yet.

His gaze gentled further. “Last time I saw you like this was after Berlin.”

The word hung between them, heavy with ghosts. Berlin. Kara closed her eyes. A flurry of snow and blood flickered in her mind. The crack of distant gunfire. Herself, younger, on her knees in a cold morgue identifying a friend’s body bag… then weeks of drowning herself in liquor to escape the guilt of being the one who lived. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet the pain was similar, eerily so. That had been the worst she’d ever felt. Until tonight.

She exhaled shakily and opened her eyes. John was watching her with that steady, unjudging patience of his.

“It’s Berlin all over again, isn’t it?” he said softly, echoing her thoughts. Not a literal battlefield this time, but the wreckage of her heart looked much the same.

Kara’s grip tightened on her glass. The muscles in her forearm quivered with the urge to break something—herself, the world, she wasn’t sure. “It’s worse,” she murmured. Her voice broke despite herself. “This time, I’m the one who—” She cut herself off, jaw clenching. Tears threatened, the whisky loosening her iron hold on them. “I hurt someone I—I love,” she forced out. The word was one she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself until this moment, but there it was, laid bare. Love. She loved Lena Luthor, and she’d broken her heart.

John’s face softened further, if that were possible. He didn’t look surprised by her admission. Perhaps he’d already guessed the depth of it. He nodded quietly, as if to say go on.

Kara took a shaky breath. “All this time I was lying to her. And she… she trusted me. God, John, she trusted me so completely. I promised her I’d never hurt her, and then I went and did just that.” Her voice wavered; she stared at the refilled glass in front of her, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. She hates me now, and I deserve it.”

John was silent for a long moment. Only the soft croon of blues and the clink of a bottle somewhere in the back kitchen filled the space.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. “You did what you had to do to keep her safe, right?”

Kara laughed bitterly, lifting the glass to her lips. “That’s the irony. I did save her. Physically. She’d be dead if I hadn’t intervened. But saving her that way meant losing her in every other sense.” She knocked back half the drink, welcoming the fire down her throat. It made it easier to keep talking, to confess these things into the dim amber light of the bar. “She didn’t ask for my protection. Hell, she didn’t even know she had a bodyguard shadowing her life. We got close—closer than I ever should’ve let happen. I should have pulled back, kept it professional, but I… couldn’t.” Kara shook her head at her own weakness. “And when they took her, I blew my cover to save her. There was no choice by then. And now she knows I’m a liar and a fraud, and everything we had… was built on a lie.”

She swiped impatiently at her eyes, catching another stray tear. She’d thought she was cried out, but apparently not.

John’s hand reached out and rested gently atop hers where it gripped the glass. The gesture was warm, steady. She looked up in surprise—John was not often one for physical reassurance beyond a clasp on the shoulder, but the touch was welcome, grounding her.

“Listen to me,” John said, meeting her gaze squarely. “You think it was all a lie? That you are just a liar? I’ve seen liars, Kara. Known a fair few in my time. That’s not you.” His tone was firm but kind. “From what little you’ve told me about this woman, I doubt she fell in love with a fraud. Maybe you couldn’t tell her everything, but I’m guessing what she loved in you was real. Your heart was real.”

Kara’s breath hitched. The word love on his tongue both warmed and wounded her. She stared down at their hands—hers pale and tense, his broad and dark and steady. A tear splashed onto the counter, just beside their fingers. She hadn’t even felt it fall.

John continued, voice rumbling soft like distant thunder. “Sometimes we have to wear masks in our line of work. Sometimes those masks get tangled up with who we really are. It’s messy. People get hurt.” He squeezed her hand. “But you did something good, Kara. You saved her. That matters.”

She wanted to believe him. Part of her, deep down, knew he was right—Lena had fallen for her, the real her that slipped through the cracks of the cover identity. Those stolen moments, the laughter, the late-night conversations about fear and hope, the gentle touches in the dark—that had all been real. Lena herself had said, I see you, the real you, even if I don’t know all of you. But would she still feel that way now, after the betrayal?

“She won’t even talk to me,” Kara whispered. The hand under John’s had begun to shake again. “When it was over, she left. I—I let her walk away.” Her voice broke entirely then. “She looked at me like I was… some kind of monster.”

John’s hand tightened, keeping her grounded. “That look was hurt, not hate. Can you really blame her for being angry and afraid? She’d just been through hell, and then to find out the person at her side wasn’t who she thought…”

Kara flinched. Every word was a knife of truth.

“But anger isn’t forever,” John went on gently. “Not when love is involved.” He slid his hand away from hers then, and she instantly felt colder at the loss of that supportive weight. John straightened up to his full height. “I’m going to make you something.”

She frowned through her haze. “Another drink?”

“Something better.” John offered a faint conspiratorial smile, then turned and disappeared into a door behind the bar—likely heading to the tiny back kitchen he kept.

Left alone for the moment, Kara hunched over the bar and let out a trembling breath. The quiet of the pub settled around her. At the far end, the two regulars had left, their stools now empty. She was truly alone in the front room. The dim lights reflected in puddles on the bar top from spilled beer or tears—she wasn’t sure which were which anymore.

The alcohol buzzed in her veins, but she wasn’t drunk, not fully. Her tolerance was too high from older days. She was in that in-between state where emotions floated to the surface more readily, no longer barricaded by her usual discipline, but her mind was still lucid enough to feel every ache. Perhaps John realized more alcohol wouldn’t help.

Her gaze drifted to the jukebox. It was playing something low and mournful—Nina Simone’s voice, rich and sorrowful, singing about the end of the line. Fitting. Kara closed her eyes and let the music wash over her raw nerves. Her mind drifted, unmoored.

She thought of Lena as she’d last seen her: standing just outside that warehouse, refusing medical attention from the DEO medics because she was too furious to accept help from anyone associated with Kara. Jack had been there, arriving in a frenzy of concern once the immediate danger was over. Kara remembered hanging back in the shadows, watching Jack envelop Lena in his coat, guiding her gently towards his car. Kara had wanted to approach, to beg for a chance to explain, but her feet wouldn’t move. What right did she have to go to her? And what would she even say? So she had stood frozen in the drizzle as Lena was driven away, not once looking back.

Coward, a voice hissed in her mind. She took another sip of scotch and huffed to herself. Yes. Maybe she was.

The door to the back swung open and John returned, carrying a steaming mug. He set it down gently in front of Kara. The rich scent of ginger and spice curled up from it, mixed with something medicinal.

“Family recipe,” he said. “Ginger tea with a little something extra for shock.” His eyes flickered kindly. “Non-alcoholic, that is.”

Kara mustered a feeble half-smile. John knew her too well. “Thanks,” she murmured. The tea’s steam kissed her face, and she inhaled. It smelled calming.

She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into her cold fingers. After a moment, she took a tentative sip. Sweet and strong and gingery, with honey and maybe a dash of cayenne—enough to warm from within. It settled in her stomach in a different way than the whisky, gentler, smoothing some of the jagged edges.

John watched her take another sip, satisfied. “Don’t mention it,” he said. He left the scotch bottle where it was but tactfully took away the empty glass, giving her the tea as a new focus.

“John… What if I can’t fix this?” Kara asked quietly, both hands around the mug as if it were a lifeline. The question bled out of her, vulnerable and small. “I’ve never—” Her voice caught, and she forced herself to continue. “I’ve never cared about someone like this. Not since, well… a long time.” Not since before Berlin, she meant. Not since before she’d built the walls around her heart. Lena had slipped through those walls and now… now Kara could lose her forever. The prospect made her want to curl in on herself and disappear.

He regarded her with gentle seriousness. “Then you try anyway. You do what a good soldier does, Danvers. You pick up the pieces you can and keep moving forward. Protect her in whatever way she’ll allow, even if that means from afar. And you work to make it right, step by step. That’s all you can do.”

Kara nodded faintly. From afar. Yes. If Lena wouldn’t see her, Kara could still ensure she was safe. That she could do without permission—discreetly, silently. She would do it as long as necessary, until she either earned a chance at forgiveness or… at least until the threat was gone for good.

Just then, the pub’s door creaked open. A gust of chill night air swept in, carrying a few stray raindrops. Alex stood in the doorway, looking around anxiously until her eyes landed on Kara at the bar. She exhaled in visible relief and approached.

Kara blinked, straightening. “Alex?” she mumbled. The haze of drink and exhaustion made her slow to react. She hadn’t expected her sister to come after her—though perhaps she should have. Alex knew her patterns too.

Alex offered a tight, apologetic smile to John, who nodded in understanding and stepped away to give them space. Then Alex turned to Kara, eyes taking in the scene: her sister hunched over a mug and an open whisky bottle, eyes red-rimmed.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Alex said softly, pushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “You took off, and I… I was worried.”

Kara lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Alex slid onto the stool next to Kara’s. “You don’t have to be sorry. I get it, I do. I just—” She sighed. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

A sad smile touched Kara’s lips. “I wasn’t exactly alone,” she said, nodding towards John, who was now politely occupying himself at the far end of the bar. She knew he’d step in if anything went awry, but for now he was letting them talk.

Alex followed her gaze and gave a small nod of acknowledgment to the bartender, then turned back to Kara. “How are you holding up?”

Kara let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You really want an honest answer to that?”

Alex’s eyes glistened; she looked like she might cry too, just seeing Kara like this. “Probably not. But I had to ask.”

Kara sipped the ginger tea quietly, gathering herself. The initial burst of anguish had subsided into a weary ache, helped along by whisky and John’s tea and his steadying words. She felt wrung out, emotions hovering just at manageable.

“You shouldn’t have left the debrief,” Kara said after a moment, trying to deflect. Her voice was rough but stable. “Edge is still out there. I know you need to plan—”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Alex cut her off gently. “The team’s on it. Lucy’s following up leads with MI5, and I sent what evidence we gathered to our analysts.” She hesitated. “We’ll get Edge, Kara. He won’t get another shot at Lena.”

At the mention of Lena’s name, Kara closed her eyes briefly. Lena’s face floated behind her lids once more, softer this time with memory: Lena smiling in the morning sun of that Cornwall safe house, hair tousled, freckles prominent across her cheeks as she teased Kara for burning toast. So alive, so full of warmth. Kara clung to that image instead of the warehouse one. Lena was alive. Lena was safe. And Kara would keep it that way.

Alex reached out and touched Kara’s arm lightly. “We’ll keep her safe,” she repeated, reading Kara’s silence.

We. As if Kara still had a place in this mission. Kara swallowed. “Alex, I… I don’t know if she’ll want our protection now. She might refuse anything to do with us.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “Well, she doesn’t get much of a say in that. She can hate us all she wants, but until Edge is behind bars or in the ground, I’m not leaving her vulnerable. None of us are.” Alex’s tone was fierce, protective. She lifted her chin. “And neither will you, I suspect.”

Kara managed a small, tired smile. It was both comforting and heartbreaking to see Alex so determined. “No,” Kara agreed quietly. “I won’t. Even if I have to do it from a mile away where she never sees me… I’ll keep watch. Whatever it takes.”

Alex gave a firm nod, as if this was a foregone conclusion. They sat in silence for a few seconds, listening to the rain patter against the windows. The storm outside was picking up, droplets tapping on glass like static.

“You know,” Alex ventured, her voice cautious now, “Jack Spheer called. He’s with Lena.”

Kara’s heart jumped. She set down the mug carefully. “Is… is she alright?”

Alex shrugged one shoulder. “Physically, yes. A few scrapes and bruises, nothing worse. They had a doctor see her at home. She refused hospital.” A faint wry smile touched Alex’s face. “You probably could’ve guessed that. She’s stubborn as hell.”

Kara huffed a weak breath of agreement. That sounded exactly like Lena—eschewing more care than strictly necessary, especially if she wanted distance from DEO and its people.

“He asked after you,” Alex added.

That surprised Kara. “Jack did?”

Alex nodded. “I think he feels guilty. He knew this could happen—the fallout. He wanted me to apologise to you, though God knows he’s the one who should apologise to Lena, and to you. Honestly, he should have known better than to ask you to lie to someone you—” She cut herself off, biting her lip.

Kara finished the sentence for her, voice barely above a whisper: “—someone I love.” It felt strange, saying it aloud in the open air of the bar, but also strangely steadying. She loved Lena. That was the truth at the core of all this mess, the one thing that had never been a lie.

Alex placed a hand over Kara’s on the bar. “We’ll make this right,” she said firmly. “Jack is going to tell her everything—that it was his idea, that you were just doing your job—”

“She’ll still hate me,” Kara said, resigned. “Even if she understands why I did it, it doesn’t undo the deception. It might even hurt more to know… to know that I really did care all along. She’ll feel twice betrayed.”

Alex didn’t have a quick answer for that. Her silence told Kara she likely agreed; Lena knowing that Kara’s feelings were genuine might only twist the knife deeper, making the lie feel even more cruel in hindsight.

At length, Alex squeezed Kara’s hand. “One step at a time. Tonight we focus on keeping her safe and getting you to breathe again. Tomorrow… we’ll deal with tomorrow.”

Kara nodded and drew a deep breath. The ginger and spice soothed her throat. She realised with a measure of surprise that the yawning, panicked despair she’d felt back at the DEO had receded. It wasn’t gone—far from it—but here in the quiet pub, with Alex on one side and John hovering as a silent sentinel, Kara felt the faintest thread of resolve begin to weave through her despair.

Lena was alive. The threat could be hunted down. Perhaps Lena would never forgive her, but Kara could live with that, as long as she knew Lena was safe and well. It would hurt like nothing else, but she could bear it—she’d bear any pain to shield Lena from further harm.

After a time, Alex gently persuaded Kara to leave the bar and head back to her flat. Dawn was nearing by then, the inky black of the sky giving way to a dull grey. Kara moved on autopilot through the motions: shrugging on her coat, thanking John quietly for the tea (and the unspoken comfort), and letting Alex take the whisky bottle from her hand—she hadn’t even realised she was still clutching it by the neck, the cap long lost. With a ghost of a smile, John told her to keep it; it had been paid for one way or another. Kara nodded her thanks, though she suspected she wouldn’t drink the rest anytime soon. The night had given her enough of that particular solace.

Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets shining with puddles that reflected the early morning streetlights. Alex’s car was parked at the kerb under a dripping lamppost. They climbed in, the leather seats cold and the engine grumbling to life.

As Alex drove, Kara gazed out at the city lights smearing across the window. Fatigue settled deep in her bones. She felt half-dead with exhaustion, but her mind refused to fully quiet. It kept circling back to Lena.

“Alex,” Kara said softly as they passed by the dark silhouette of L-Corp’s headquarters against the pre-dawn sky, “do you think… do you think she’ll ever speak to me again?”

Alex’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was honest but gentle. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Lena has every right to feel betrayed. It’s going to take time. And even then… it might not be the outcome you want.”

Kara closed her eyes, absorbing that. She had to accept that truth. There was a very real chance Lena would never forgive her. A very real chance tonight was not just a painful rift, but a permanent loss. The thought made Kara’s chest constrict painfully. She pressed a hand to her sternum, as if to hold herself together.

“But,” Alex continued, “I’ve seen the way she looked at you before all this. And I heard the way you talked about her, even when you tried to play it off like it was nothing.” Alex glanced at Kara. “There’s something real there, on both sides. That doesn’t vanish overnight. It might be buried under anger and hurt, but it’s still there. So… have a little faith, okay?”

Kara bit down on the inside of her cheek to quell the surge of emotion. “Faith,” she echoed quietly, almost to herself. It was hard to feel hopeful right now. But she would hold onto a sliver of it, if only to keep herself moving forward for Lena’s sake.

They pulled up outside Kara’s flat—a modest building on a quiet street. The sky was growing lighter in the east, a sullen, rain-washed dawn breaking. Alex parked but didn’t turn off the engine.

“You coming up?” Kara asked.

Alex shook her head. “I need to get back to HQ soon. There’s… a lot to handle. Paperwork, calls. And I want to keep the search for Edge rolling.” She hesitated. “Will you be okay?”

Kara forced a small smile. “I won’t do anything stupid, if that’s what you mean. I’ll… try to sleep a little.”

Alex studied her, as if evaluating the promise. Finally, she accepted it with a brief nod. She leaned over and pulled Kara into a tight hug. “Call me if you need anything. Anything, Kara. I mean it.”

Kara hugged her back, taking strength from her sister one more time. “I will.”

Reluctantly, Alex released her. Kara stepped out of the car, the chilly early morning air raising gooseflesh on her skin. She leaned down to look at Alex through the open passenger window. “Thank you. For… for everything.”

Alex gave her a sad smile. “It’s what sisters are for.” She paused. “We’ll get through this, alright?”

Kara nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She watched as Alex drove off, the red tail-lights disappearing around the corner, leaving Kara alone on the quiet street.

Her flat’s windows were dark. No welcoming glow, no warm scent of home. She hadn’t been here in days—not since she’d been practically living at Lena’s side, spending nights between Lena’s penthouse and DEO safe houses. Now it felt empty, foreign. Still, it was shelter.

Kara climbed the steps slowly. Every step echoed the heaviness in her heart. Inside, she flicked on a lamp, casting a low light in the small living room. A pile of mail lay scattered just inside the door where it had been pushed through the slot. Kara toed off her boots and shed her damp hoodie, suddenly noticing the dried blood on her shirt beneath. She stripped that off too, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and stood there in her sports bra and trousers, staring blankly into space.

She didn’t have the energy for a shower, but she wandered to the bathroom sink. In the mirror above it, she barely recognised the woman staring back. Haunted eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, a purple bruise blossoming along her jawline where one of the mercenaries had struck her earlier. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, bits of broken glass glittering in it from where a lightbulb had shattered during the fight. Grimacing, Kara plucked a tiny shard from a strand.

Her eyes travelled to her shoulder, to the old scar partially visible at the edge of her sports bra strap. A roughly circular mark, pale and silvery against her slightly tanned skin. She gently traced it with her fingertips. That wound had almost killed her once, a reminder of a mission gone wrong, of sacrifice and loss. She had often stared at it in the years after Berlin, especially on dark nights when guilt consumed her. It represented surviving when others didn’t, and she’d never quite made peace with why.

Tonight—no, this morning now, she realised—she looked at the scar and saw something else: the proof that she could survive unimaginable pain. She had nearly died, but she lived. She bore the scar and went on. Scar tissue, they say, is tougher than the original flesh. Less flexible, perhaps, less sensitive—but stronger in the broken places.

Was her heart like that too? It had been scarred before, by loss and guilt. Lena had gently touched that scar once, not knowing its full history, and yet with her kindness she’d begun to heal wounds even deeper inside Kara. And now Kara had a fresh wound: the loss of Lena’s trust, possibly her love. It hurt in ways she hadn’t thought possible. But maybe… if she lived through this, if she kept moving, it would become a scar she could carry. It would be a permanent ache, but perhaps one day it would be a reminder of both what she’d lost and what she still fought for.

Kara turned off the bathroom light and drifted into her bedroom. Here too everything was dark and undisturbed, the bed neatly made, as if waiting for her return. She sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion pulling at her, but her mind wouldn’t let her rest yet.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded photo she had taken from her desk. In the faint dawn light coming through the curtains, she gazed at it. Lena’s laughing face beamed up at her from the glossy paper, her eyes crinkled in happiness, her arm looped through Kara’s as they walked down a sunlit London street. Kara in the photo wore sunglasses and a grin, and all her attention was on Lena. They looked carefree, like any ordinary couple in love. A lump rose in Kara’s throat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the Lena in the photograph. Her thumb brushed over the image of Lena’s cheek. “I’m so sorry I lied to you.”

Her vision blurred, tears gathering again. “I never meant to hurt you. I’d rather die than let anyone hurt you.” Her voice shook in the silence. “Even if you never want to see me again, I’ll be there. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Saying it aloud felt like a vow, each word carved out of her soul. Kara closed her eyes and pressed the photo to her chest, right over her heart. She made a silent oath then, as solemn as any she’d ever sworn on a battlefield: Whatever it takes, whatever you need, I will protect you, Lena. I won’t let him—won’t let anyone—touch you again.

In her mind, she saw Morgan Edge’s face—smirking in a newspaper photo from one of Alex’s intel files, the face of the man who had orchestrated Lena’s torment. Anger flared in her, hot and steady, cutting through the despair. He was still out there, and he would be planning his next move, no doubt. Kara found she relished that anger; it gave her clarity.

Wiping her tears, Kara rose from the bed and went to the window. Dawn was breaking fully now, a sullen light creeping over the city’s rooftops. In the distance, beyond the skyline, somewhere Morgan Edge was likely waking to a new day as well—perhaps already plotting how to finish what he started.

Kara’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She would not let him succeed. He had tried to destroy Lena for his greed, and in the process he had ripped away Kara’s happiness too. Kara could live with that cost—her own heart be damned—but she would not let Morgan Edge take anything more from Lena. Not her life, not her work, and not her spirit.

There in the pale light of morning, Kara Danvers made her vow concrete. It solidified in her like steel forging in a fire. She would bring Morgan Edge down, brick by brick, piece by piece. She would tear apart his operations, expose his crimes, ensure he could never threaten Lena or anyone else again.

And she would watch over Lena, for as long as it took, from however far she had to. Lena might never forgive her, might never even speak to her, but that wouldn’t stop Kara from protecting her. Love didn’t vanish just because it was unwelcome. Hers would simply have to live in the shadows, silent but steadfast.

Kara felt a strange calm settle over her as she resolved this. The tears had dried, leaving only the determined set of her jaw and the steady thrumming of her heart. On her shoulder, her scar twinged—a faint throb. She rolled her shoulder slowly. It hurt, yes, but it was an old, familiar hurt. A survivable hurt.

She thought of Lena’s eyes again—no longer the horrified ones from the warehouse, but the softer memory from just a day ago. In her mind’s eye, Lena was smiling shyly at her across a breakfast table, sunlight catching in her dark hair, a world of trust in her gaze. That memory was not tainted by lies; it was pure, a moment out of time. Kara clung to it fiercely. Whatever happened now, whatever bridges had burned, no one could take those moments from her. They would live in her, scar tissue over her heart, reminding her of what was real and what was worth fighting for.

“I will keep you safe,” Kara whispered once more, the promise falling into the quiet room like a prayer.

She pressed two fingers to her lips, then touched them to Lena’s smiling face in the photograph. It was a foolish, sentimental gesture, but no one was watching to judge.

Outside, the rain began again, a gentle patter. Kara welcomed its sound. She unfolded a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it around her shoulders. Sleep might still be a long way off, but she would rest for an hour or two if she could, gather her strength. Because when she rose, it would be to begin the hunt for Morgan Edge in earnest.

Kara settled back on the bed, sitting against the headboard with the blanket around her like a mantle. The photo of happier times remained clutched in her hand, resting on her lap. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, listening to the rain.

In the silence, Lena’s voice came to her once more, not angry this time but gentle as it had been that morning in Cornwall: I see you, Kara. The real you. A tear slipped from the corner of Kara’s eye at the echo of those words. Alex had told her to have a little faith.

“You’ll see me again someday,” Kara murmured, barely audible. “The real me. I’ll make sure of it.” Was it a promise to Lena or to herself? Perhaps both.

The rain’s lullaby and her own bone-deep fatigue finally began to tug her under. As Kara drifted into a light, restless sleep, her last conscious thought was of Lena’s face and the steady refrain that guided her now:

Protect Lena. Stop Edge. Whatever it takes.

Those resolves would fuse with her very being, healing over the open wound of her heartbreak until it was scarred but solid. Kara would carry that scar and its lessons into the battles ahead. And if fate was kind, someday Lena might understand that every lie Kara told had been wrapped in truth—the truth of her love, and the lengths to which she would go to keep Lena safe.

For now, in the fragile peace of dawn, Kara allowed herself to rest, cradling both hope and regret close to her heart. The scars of the night would remain, but she was still here. And as long as she was alive, she would not give up on Lena Luthor.

Never.

Chapter Text

Lena hadn’t slept. By the time a grey dawn bled into her penthouse, her eyes were dry and burning, her mind too loud and restless for any rest to come. She sat at the edge of her living room sofa with a thin blanket drawn around her shoulders, as if the sparse wool could ward off the chill that had settled deep inside her. On the coffee table in front of her, a mug of tea sat untouched and stone-cold. She had made it on autopilot hours ago – measuring out tea leaves, pouring boiling water – not for the comfort, but simply to do something. Now the mug’s contents were forgotten, a film of cooling bergamot scum on its surface.

The silence pressed in. It was the kind of silence that normally soothed her after long days – she’d often cherished these early morning stillnesses, before the world demanded her attention. But today it was hollow, oppressive. In that quiet, the memories from the night before had nothing to drown them out.

She had been kidnapped. The word still felt unreal, even after living through it. It came to her in jagged flashes: the screech of tyres on wet pavement as a van cut her off outside her lab; a rush of adrenaline and terror as hands grabbed her, dragged her into darkness; the chemical bite of chloroform stealing her consciousness. Then hours of blur – she wasn’t sure how long – of cold fear and frustration, wrists bound behind her back, the sting of a split lip and bruises blossoming across her skin. And through it all, a single thought that had kept her from despair: Kara will find me.

Kara. Lena closed her eyes, a tremor passing through her. Even now, even after everything, the first name her mind reached for in fear was hers. Kara had found her, as Lena somehow knew she would. Kara had come crashing through that warehouse like a force of nature, unhesitating, fierce and familiar. The relief that had flooded Lena in that moment was unlike anything she’d ever felt – a belief fulfilled, a hope vindicated. In those heartbeats between life and death, Lena had felt safe, saved, cradled in the certainty that Kara would never let her fall.

Until she learned the truth.

Lena’s eyes snapped open. Her jaw tightened; she felt it then – the splintering within her that had begun the moment she realised the woman pulling her from the abyss was not who she’d claimed to be. That moment was a vivid shard in Lena’s mind: she remembered the crack of gunfire going silent, remembered Kara’s strong arms hauling her to unsteady feet. She remembered looking up into Kara’s face – streaked with soot and resolve – and seeing a stranger wearing the features of the woman she…

Lena’s throat closed up. She couldn’t complete the thought, even in the privacy of her own mind. It was too painful to name what Kara had been to her. What she still was, some traitorous part of Lena’s heart whispered. Instead she focused on the facts, the cold betrayal laid bare in that warehouse. Kara had moved with the precision of a soldier, disarming their captors with terrifying efficiency. She’d barked orders into a comm hidden in her ear. She’d known exactly how to handle a firearm – Lena had watched, stunned, as Kara ejected a spent magazine and reloaded with swift confidence. Every action screamed a truth Lena couldn’t deny: Kara had lied. She wasn’t a hapless writer caught in a dangerous situation – she was at the very centre of it.

Lena could still hear the echo of her own broken voice from last night, raw and shaking in the dark of that warehouse office: “Who are you?” She had demanded it, voice cracking on betrayal and fear. Kara’s face in that instant haunted her – illuminated by a flicker of emergency light, blue eyes wide and anguished, lips parted with words she couldn’t seem to say. Kara had reached for her then, fingers brushing Lena’s arm as if to steady or comfort her, but Lena had flinched away as though burned. She couldn’t bear it – the touch of those hands that had felt so gentle on her skin now felt alien, wrong, belonging to someone she did not know.

After that, it had been chaos. The authorities – or rather, the private paramilitary team Kara truly worked with – had swarmed in. Lena vaguely recalled paramedics checking her pupils, wrapping a foil blanket around her shoulders that did nothing to quell the trembling within. Kara had stood at a distance, out of Lena’s immediate sight but never far, her posture rigid with worry. Every time Lena’s eyes accidentally found her, Kara looked like she was in as much pain as Lena felt. And that only made it worse.

She remembered the ride home, too. They’d insisted she be escorted. Lena had sat in the back of an unmarked DEO SUV, an unfamiliar agent driving, while Kara sat silently in the front passenger seat. Kara had shed the taciturn combat gear by then and thrown on a black jacket that might have passed for civilian clothes – except Lena now saw the truth in every motion Kara made. The way Kara scanned the streets and rooftops as they drove, restless and alert, was not the habit of a friendly novelist. It was a professional vigilance. The lie, stripped of its veneer, was so glaring that Lena had felt sick from it.

When they reached her building, the driver had tactfully remained in the car, leaving Kara to open Lena’s door. The short walk to the lift and up to her penthouse had passed in agonising silence. Kara kept a careful distance, as if afraid any sudden move might shatter what fragile control Lena had left. And perhaps she was right. Lena had felt like a brittle shell ready to crack.

Inside her flat, dim in the late-night darkness, Kara had finally spoken. “Lena-” she had begun, voice low and hoarse as she turned to face her. Kara’s eyes were pleading, glassy with unshed tears that Lena refused to acknowledge in that moment. Lena had raised a hand to cut her off. She couldn’t hear it then. Not a word. Kara’s voice – the same voice that had murmured encouragement and kindness to her for weeks – now sounded like poison.

“Don’t,” Lena had choked out, surprised at her own steadiness – an iciness layered over volcanic hurt. “You need to leave. Now.”

Kara had stood there, a silhouette of regret framed by the light spilling in from the hallway. Her mouth opened, a desperate protest poised on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. Maybe she saw the way Lena’s outstretched hand trembled despite the decisiveness of her words. Maybe she knew there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t make everything worse. So Kara had just nodded, a barely-there dip of her chin, eyes never leaving Lena’s – silently begging for forgiveness that Lena could not give. Then, without another word, Kara had walked out of Lena’s home and out of the lie they had been living.

The memory of that moment sent a fresh stab of pain through Lena’s chest. She had stood rigidly until the door clicked shut behind Kara last night, holding herself together with every last thread of strength. Only when she was finally, blessedly alone had she allowed the facade to slip. She’d staggered back, away from that door, and felt a sob wrench itself from her throat – a keening, guttural sound of heartbreak she couldn’t contain. It had echoed in the emptiness of her foyer, a raw admission of just how deeply she’d been wounded.

That solitary sob had been all Lena permitted herself. In the long hours since, she had forced her emotions back under lock and key. She had dried her tears with shaking hands, washed the blood and grime of the night from her skin in a scalding shower until it ran clear, and donned fresh clothes like armour – black leggings and a soft charcoal jumper, garments that offered comfort without fuss. Then she’d come out to this living room, the sky still dark beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and sat. And sat. Her mind replayed every moment, every touch and word exchanged with Kara over the past weeks, searching for the clues she’d missed or the lies she’d swallowed.

Now a pale morning light was creeping through the half-open blinds, illuminating the sleek lines of her minimalist flat. Normally, Lena found peace in this space she’d crafted for herself – the modern furniture, the curated art on the walls, all so carefully controlled. But now it felt sterile. Devoid of life. She felt like a ghost haunting her own home, uncertain of where to go or what to do. If she moved, if she tried to resume any of her normal routines, it would make all of this real.

Her gaze drifted to the crumpled foil blanket discarded on the floor near the door – a stark reminder that last night had not been some fevered nightmare. She was safe now; Kara had said so. The immediate threat had been neutralised. And yet Lena had never felt less safe in her life. The danger was gone, but the damage remained.

A tentative rap of knuckles on her front door broke the silence, startling Lena from her reverie. She jolted, her heart giving a traitorous leap as, for one foolish second, she imagined it might be Kara. Kara, who so often showed up at her door at odd hours with takeaway curry or some new book recommendation, Kara who always knocked even though Lena had given her a key card weeks ago. Kara-

Lena’s breath caught, and she banished the hope as swiftly as it arose. Kara wouldn’t dare come, not after last night. Not after Lena had made her feelings brutally clear. And even if she did… Lena couldn’t decide if she’d slam the door in her face or collapse into her arms. The fact that she didn’t know which impulse would win terrified her.

Another knock, slightly more urgent this time. Not Kara’s gentle, rhythmic tap – someone else. Lena drew the blanket tighter around herself as if it could fortify her, and stood. Her legs were stiff and unsteady, a reminder of the rough treatment she’d endured. She pressed one hand to her side, where an ache bloomed from a particularly nasty bruise, and made her way to the door.

She hesitated with her hand over the latch. Her mind wasn’t exactly in a state to face anyone, but whoever was outside clearly wasn’t going away. Through the door’s security camera screen, she caught sight of a familiar figure in the corridor: tall, dark-haired, pacing anxiously. Jack.

Lena’s stomach clenched. Of course. If there was anyone aside from Kara who’d insist on checking on her in person, it would be Jack Spheer. Her oldest friend – and, as of last night’s revelations, another co-conspirator in the deception that had upended her world.

A flare of anger stirred within her, cutting through the numb grief. Jack had known. From the very beginning, he had known exactly who Kara was and what she was doing, and he had kept that from Lena. He had sat with her just days ago, right in this living room, listening to her speak about Kara – how brilliant and kind this new friend was, how much Lena valued having someone in her life who felt… normal. Lena had confided in Jack that she was happy, perhaps truly happy for the first time in years. Jack had smiled and encouraged her, all the while knowing it was him who had planted Kara by her side like a particularly benevolent spy. How much of Jack’s warmth had been genuine in those moments, and how much had been guilt?

The knock came a third time, softly, and she heard Jack’s voice, muffled through the door: “Lena? I’m so sorry to drop by… I just- Could I see you, please?”

For a long moment, Lena considered not answering. It would be easier in a way – to not confront yet another betrayal while her heart was still reeling from the last. But Lena Luthor had never been one to hide from unpleasant truths, no matter how much they might hurt. Taking a steadying breath, she undid the latch and opened the door.

Jack stood there, hand still partially raised from knocking. The sight of him was jarring – he looked as dishevelled and distressed as Lena felt. His usually impeccably styled dark hair was a mess, eyes red-rimmed and shadowed as though he hadn’t slept either. He wore the same clothes she’d last seen him in the day before: a crisp navy suit, now crumpled and missing the tie, top buttons undone. In his hands he clutched a small paper bag and a take-away coffee cup carrier. The rich scent of espresso wafted into the flat, along with the faint smell of rain from the hallway.

“Jack,” Lena said by way of greeting. Her voice came out cool, leveled by exhaustion and hurt. She didn’t move to invite him in, not yet.

Relief and worry warred on Jack’s face at the mere fact that she’d opened the door. “Lena. Thank God.” He let out a breath as if he’d been holding it all morning. “I was worried you wouldn’t… that you might not answer.”

For a beat, neither of them moved. Lena’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the man she’d known for over a decade. Under other circumstances, she might have felt pity at how wrecked he appeared; Jack wore his emotions openly, and clearly those emotions were in turmoil. But right now, pity was buried under layers of betrayal.

“What do you want, Jack?” she asked quietly. She kept her voice steady, polite even, though an icy edge slipped into the words.

Jack swallowed, the bob of his throat visible. “To check on you, first of all,” he said. “And to apologise. Profusely. For… for all of it.”

He shifted, raising the coffee carrier slightly. “I brought your favourite, from Monmouth Coffee. Flat white, extra hot, one sugar. And a croissant from that French bakery you love. I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten….” His tone was tentative, almost frightened of her reaction.

Lena realized she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday – the day that felt a lifetime away now – but the thought of food turned her stomach. Jack’s attempts at comfort, at normalcy, felt glaringly out of place. She stared at the offered coffee and pastry, memories flickering of countless mornings when Jack had done just this in happier times – showing up with treats, coaxing a smile out of her during stressful project crunches or bad press cycles. Normally, the gesture would earn him an eyeroll and a grateful smirk. Today, Lena could only manage the eyeroll.

“Bribery, Jack?” she said, arching a brow. “You think a croissant covers this?”

Her words were sharper than she’d intended, but she didn’t regret them. If she was a little cruel, so be it – at least cruelty might keep the burgeoning hurt at bay.

Jack flinched, shame clouding his expression. “No. I– I wasn’t trying to ‘cover’ anything. I just…” He exhaled. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I just didn’t want to come empty-handed, not when you…”

He trailed off, seeming unsure how to finish. Not when you might throw me out on sight, perhaps, Lena completed in her head. Despite everything, a tiny pang of guilt tugged at her. Jack’s intentions, twisted as they had been, sprang from a place of care. She knew that. But knowing it did not absolve him. Or ease the ache of betrayal.

“Come in,” she said at last, stepping aside and pulling the door open wider. She maintained a mask of chilly composure as Jack moved past her into the foyer. It cost her, that mask – her reserve was held together with fraying threads, but she wouldn’t let them snap in front of Jack. She wouldn’t break again so easily.

Jack walked in, setting the coffee and bag down carefully on a console table by the entrance. He didn’t venture further, waiting for her lead, hands now hanging awkwardly at his sides. The tension in the air was thick, heavy with things unspoken. Lena closed the door and folded her arms across her chest, more for self-comfort than confrontation. The blanket had slipped from her shoulders when she stood; now without its thin barrier she felt exposed in more ways than one.

They stood facing each other in the soft morning light. Lena’s face was pale and drawn; she was aware she probably looked as wrung-out as she felt, but she lifted her chin, meeting Jack’s gaze directly. His brown eyes-usually so warm with camaraderie-were glassy with contrition.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

It was such a normal question, spoken as if this were any other difficult day, that Lena almost laughed. How was she feeling? There weren’t words for the tempest inside her. But Jack’s question wasn’t meant to open the floodgates; it was concern, plain and simple. He peered at her, taking in the faint bruise along her cheekbone, the tired red in her eyes. Lena saw his jaw clench at the sight, a flash of anger-likely at those who’d hurt her-flickering across his face.

“I’ve been better,” she replied evenly. She let that answer sit a moment before adding, “Physically, I’ll be fine. The doctor you sent was thorough.”

She did not thank him for arranging a private doctor to tend her injuries overnight. The physician had come and gone in a haze-stitching the shallow cut on her temple, checking for concussion (there was none, just a headache), prescribing rest. Jack no doubt thought of everything in the aftermath, as he always did. But to Lena, his efficiency was just another reminder that he had been pulling strings without her knowledge.

Jack nodded, remorse written in the lines of his face. “I’m glad. I… I hoped you’d let them help.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Lena, I am so sorry. For everything.”

He took a tentative step closer, out of the foyer’s shadows and into a blade of light falling through the hall. He looked so earnest, voice trembling on the edge of tears, that for a moment Lena had to look away, fixing her gaze on the pattern of the rug beneath their feet. If she looked too long into that familiar face, she might either start crying or start shouting, and she wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” she asked quietly. Her tone was controlled, but a tremor slipped through on the last word, betraying her barely held composure. She tightened her folded arms against her body, nails digging into her sleeves.

“For going behind your back,” Jack said immediately. “For hiring them without telling you. For… for deceiving you, even if I thought it was for the right reasons at the time.”

“The right reasons,” Lena repeated, with a bitter tilt of her head. She finally stepped forward, moving past Jack into the living room. She couldn’t stand hovering by the door like a guest in her own home. Jack followed cautiously, keeping a respectful distance. She sensed him watching her carefully, weighing how far to push, how much truth to offer. He was always good at reading rooms-and reading her.

Lena stopped by the sofa, one hand resting on the back of it to steady herself. The small movement sent a throb of pain through her arm; she ignored it. “Enlighten me then, Jack. What made you and your hired gun think lying to my face was the right approach?”

Jack winced at her phrasing. “I never wanted it to be like this,” he began softly. “You left me no choice.”

She let out a short, disbelieving breath. “I left you no choice? That’s rich.” Her voice sharpened, eyes flashing. “I recall you asking if you could help with the threats, and I recall telling you that I had it under control. That I didn’t want security or bodyguards.” She paused, jaw tight. “I thought you respected my wishes. Instead, you found a more underhanded way to get what you wanted.”

Jack looked stricken. “What I wanted was to keep you alive,” he said, raw desperation creeping into his voice. “Lena, those threats weren’t idle. You know that. Whoever was targeting you was escalating. I was afraid… I was afraid one day I’d wake up to a phone call saying you were-” His voice choked off, and he dragged a hand over his face, as if to wipe away the very thought. “I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. So yes, when you refused security, I… I got creative.”

“Creative,” Lena repeated, the word like acid on her tongue. “Is that what we call it now? Spying on a friend? Hiring an agent to infiltrate her life without her knowledge?”

Jack’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t try to defend the morality of it. Instead he said softly, “It was a mistake. I see that now. God, Lena, I am so sorry.”

Silence fell between them. Lena squeezed the sofa’s back, trying to steady the anger that warred with deep hurt inside her. When she trusted herself to speak, her words came out low and tight. “You should have just told me. You should have given me the choice, Jack.”

His eyes met hers, earnest and glistening. “Would you have accepted help if I had?”

Lena opened her mouth, then shut it. It was an unfair question and they both knew it. She had said no repeatedly to additional security; Jack’s gambit had been born of her refusals. If he had fully explained the danger… perhaps she would have relented eventually. Or perhaps not. Lena was stubborn, and she had her reasons for resisting protection. Reasons she wasn’t about to unpack now.

“That was still my decision to make,” she replied, steeling herself.

Jack nodded, remorseful. “I know. You’re right. I took that decision from you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I violated your trust.”

He took another tentative step closer. Lena tensed but held her ground, glaring up at him as he continued, “I wish I could undo it. More than anything. Last night, when I heard what happened-” His voice cracked. “I never wanted you to get hurt. And I never wanted you to feel betrayed like this. Not by me. Not by Kara.”

The sound of her name – Kara – fell between them like a heavy weight. Lena’s heart lurched, but she mustered every ounce of composure to hide it. “Ah yes,” she said, each syllable cool and precise, slicing through her own pain. “Kara Danvers. Or whatever her name truly is.”

Jack’s brow furrowed deeply. “It is Kara. Kara Danvers,” he said quickly, as if afraid Lena was rewriting even that piece of truth. “She never lied about that. Or about a lot of things.”

A bitter laugh escaped Lena before she could stop it. “Not about a lot of things? She lied about her entire identity, Jack. She pretended to be my friend… more than my friend.” Her throat constricted on that point, voice dropping. “Everything I knew about her was a fabrication.”

Jack stepped forward again, hesitant, as though approaching a skittish animal. He was now close enough that Lena could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the sheen of tears he was holding back in his eyes. “Not everything,” he said gently.

Lena shot him a withering look, one that masked the sudden surge of emotion his words triggered. How badly she wanted to believe that – that something, anything, between her and Kara had been real. But in the void of explanations, her fears had filled the gaps. And her greatest fear was that every moment of tenderness Kara had shown her was calculated, a tactic to earn trust. That none of Kara’s smiles or laughter or comfort was truly meant for Lena – just tools of the mission.

Seeing her expression, Jack pressed on with quiet urgency. “Listen to me, please. Kara didn’t take this assignment casually. When I first approached the DEO, they rejected me. Kara herself wasn’t even in the meeting; Alex Danvers – her sister – turned me down flat. They don’t do bodyguard work, she said. They weren’t interested. I had given up, but then Kara showed up... She wanted to know more.”

Lena’s eyes flickered with surprise despite herself. This she hadn’t known. Kara had never let slip that their fateful meeting in the café was anything but chance – of course not, it had been a well-orchestrated ploy. But hearing that Kara had sought the job out… what did that change? She bit the inside of her cheek hard, refusing to be drawn in by curiosity. She stayed silent, letting Jack continue.

He took her silence as permission. “Kara was adamant that if it was to be done, it be done right. On your terms as much as possible. She insisted on a cover that wouldn’t violate your privacy more than necessary. That’s why she posed as a writer. So she could spend time with you naturally, not just lurk around as a supposed new neighbour or an assistant or something that would have felt invasive. She… she wanted to get to know you, Lena. Not just protect you from afar.”

Lena’s chest constricted, a mix of anger and anguish swirling. “And in doing so, she deceived me intimately. Befriended me under false pretences. Is that supposed to make me feel better, Jack? That she intentionally entangled herself into every aspect of my life instead of just standing guard outside my door?”

Jack shook his head vigorously. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. Just- let me finish.” He inhaled. “I’m telling you this because I need you to know the context. Kara volunteered for this mission, yes. But once she was in… she struggled. From the very beginning, she hated lying to you.”

Lena’s pulse quickened, and she gripped the couch so hard her knuckles blanched. She thought of Kara’s many small hesitations, the times she’d looked like she wanted to say something important but held back. At the time Lena had ascribed it to Kara’s shy, gentle nature. Now… now it played in her mind under a different light.

Jack stepped closer, and instinctively Lena stepped back, circling to the other side of the sofa to keep a barrier between them. She wasn’t quite ready to have him so near while her emotions were roiling. Jack respected the space, halting and meeting her eyes earnestly across the expanse of the couch.

“She nearly told you the truth so many times,” he said softly. “I could see it eating at her. Every time I called to check in, I heard it in her voice – how much she was feeling. It was more than a job to her from day one. Lena… Kara cares about you. Deeply.”

A sharp lump formed in Lena’s throat. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t stand there and try to convince me of her feelings. After what happened-”

“She saved your life,” Jack interrupted, not unkindly but firmly. “More than once now, if I’m not mistaken. The breach at L-Corp last week? The drive-by attempt outside the conference? You didn’t see it, but Kara was always watching out for you.”

Lena’s mind flashed to moments that had unnerved her – that odd near-accident with a car she’d dismissed as random, or when a piece of scaffolding nearly fell outside her building one morning. She’d chalked them up to chance. Was Kara there, intervening? It was chilling, realising how much danger she had been in without even knowing.

Jack’s tone gentled. “She protected you, Lena. And not just because it was her job. Trust me. Kara isn’t someone who sticks around if her heart’s not in it. If anything, she would have preferred to keep detached – that was her rule, no more deep cover missions because she knew the toll they take. But with you…”

He paused, as if searching for the right words. “With you, it became real. She broke every one of her own rules. She got close to you, closer than I think she meant to. Closer than protocol called for by a long shot. I just know this from what Alex described to me after Kara had agreed but it was clear, this was very, very peculiar circumstances.”

Lena stood very still, heart thudding painfully. She remembered Kara’s vulnerability on those quiet evenings when they’d shared pieces of their pasts. Kara had always deflected from talking much about herself, but the softness in her eyes when Lena opened up about her own life… that hadn’t been fake, had it? It hadn’t felt fake when Kara held her hand as she talked about her mother’s death, or when Kara listened to her rant about boardroom politics with earnest attention. Those moments felt genuine. And yet, if Kara could lie about so much, how could Lena trust even the smallest of those memories?

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture of anxiety. “I know you have every right to be furious. At me. At her. We should have found another way. I should have found another way. But I promise you, Kara never meant to hurt you. In fact, she wanted desperately not to. She-”

Lena cut in, voice frigid and quiet. “She what? Go on.”

Jack exhaled slowly. “She fell in love with you, Lena. In real time. Right before my eyes. And she hated herself for it. She didn’t say it, but I heard it in every status update.                    ”

The words hung in the air, impossibly heavy. For a moment, Lena wondered if she’d heard correctly. The floor felt as if it dropped an inch beneath her feet, her balance wavering with the impact of that statement.

“Love,” Lena repeated, barely breathing the word. Her rational mind immediately rejected it-how could he say that? Love was built on trust and truth, not deceit. Yet her battered heart seized onto it with a wild, aching hope that refused to be extinguished.

Jack nodded, eyes shining. “I’ve known Kara only a short while, but I know what I saw. I saw the way she looked at you when you weren’t noticing, as if you hung the stars. I heard it in her voice when she talked about you – even when she tried to just give me factual updates, she couldn’t hide how she… how much you meant to her.”

Lena felt as though she’d forgotten how to inhale. She pressed a hand against the couch back, the other lifting unconsciously to hover at her own sternum, as if to contain the furious pounding of her heart. Her cheeks felt cold; the rest of her, numb.

“I don’t expect you to forgive her right now. Or me,” Jack went on hurriedly. “I just need you to know that what she felt – what she feels – is true. Kara was going to resign from the DEO over this, did you know that? Before the kidnapping even happened, she told her sister she was done, that she couldn’t keep lying to you. She was going to tell you everything.”

Lena’s eyes snapped up. That, at least, rang true in a way, given how tormented Kara had looked those last days. But it also felt like a cruel irony – Kara was going to tell her? Too little, too late.

Jack’s voice softened further, thick with sympathy. “Lena, I know you. I know trust is… hard for you. With damned good reason. And what happened with Kara – it confirms every fear you have, I know that. But I swear to you: she never once treated you as a mission. Not in her heart. She fell for you as you, and it tore her up knowing you might never forgive her for the lie that brought her to you. I never wanted anything but you to be safe.”

A single tear escaped down Lena’s cheek. She hadn’t even felt it well up; suddenly it was just there, warm against her cool skin, tracing a path she quickly scrubbed away with the heel of her palm. She hated that she was crying in front of Jack now, hated that his words got through her armour. She wanted to remain stone, unreachable. But the idea – the mere suggestion – that Kara truly loved her… It was worse than if she didn’t, because it meant the loss of something real, not just the shattering of an illusion.

Lena felt her control slipping. The chaos inside her was too much: the anger at being used, the sorrow of losing the woman she’d grown to love, and now the confusion of hearing that maybe she hadn’t been alone in that love after all.

She straightened, lifting her chin high even as her eyes glistened traitorously. “That doesn’t make it better, Jack,” she said. Each word dropped like ice, her voice trembling despite the hardness she tried to inject. “That doesn’t magically erase the fact that she lied to me every single day we were together. If anything…” Her voice broke, and she forced it back into line. “If what you’re saying is true, it makes it so much worse.”

Jack looked stricken. “Lena-”

She shook her head, silencing him with a glare, and stepped around the couch to close the distance between them. She had to say this plainly. “Do you understand what it’s like,” she said, her tone low and intense, “to doubt every moment you thought was genuine? To look back and question if any of it was real? You tell me Kara fell in love with me – you think that helps? All it tells me is that she was capable of honesty, of real feeling, and yet she still chose to keep me in the dark. So what was I, Jack?” Her throat tightened painfully, but she pushed on. “Was I someone’s assignment and someone’s lover at once? Was I just a problem to solve, with the bonus of some convenient affection on the side? Because that’s how it feels. Like I was… was a fool who handed over her heart to someone who was being paid to care!”

The words echoed in the high ceilings of the living room. Lena’s chest heaved. She hadn’t meant to reveal quite so much-hadn’t meant to say “lover” or “heart” or any of it-but the flood had been unleashed. Hot tears blurred her vision. She angrily blinked them back, refusing to break down completely.

Jack’s face was etched with empathy and sorrow. He raised both hands, as if in surrender. “You were not a fool,” he said softly. “And you were never just an assignment to her, I promise you that on my life.”

Lena wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. Exhaustion rolled over her in a wave. This confrontation, necessary as it was, had sapped what little strength she had left.

Jack cautiously closed the gap and, when she didn’t step away, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again. “I know nothing I say can undo the hurt. But please don’t doubt that you are loved, Lena. That’s all I want you to take away, even if you can’t forgive us. You are loved. By me-” his voice faltered, but he pressed on, “-and by Kara.”

Lena let out a shaky exhale. She didn’t shrug off Jack’s hand, but she didn’t lean into it either. “Loved,” she echoed quietly, almost to herself. The concept felt as dangerous as it was comforting. She had spent so long secretly believing she was hard to love-her trust issues, her driven focus, her family name all building a fortress around her. Kara had slipped past those defences like sunlight through a crack, warming places in Lena she thought long frozen. To hear that it might have been love – truly – on both sides should have been a miraculous revelation. Instead it felt like salt in a wound. Because if it was love, it was a love built on a rotten foundation. How could she ever trust it? Trust herself? Her judgement?

A silence fell, this time not as suffocating as before, but heavy with shared sorrow. Finally, Lena pulled back, removing Jack’s hand from her shoulder with a light touch of her fingers. She was grateful, in a distant way, that he had told her the full truth now. But her heart was not ready to accept it, let alone act on it.

“I appreciate you coming to tell me this,” she said, voice steadier now, though drained. “And I believe that you believe it. But you need to understand-” She met his gaze with eyes that no doubt still shimmered from tears, but her resolve was firm. “It doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t mend anything right now.”

Jack nodded slowly, sorrowfully. “I understand,” he said. “I just… if you ever want to talk about it more, or even yell at me some more, I’m here. I’ll do whatever I can to make it right. And I won’t hide anything from you again. On my honour, Lena.”

The corner of her mouth twitched in a ghost of a bitter smile. “Your honour, Jack? You make it sound so grand,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. She was so damn tired.

Jack managed a faint, sad smile himself. “I suppose it’s a bit late for grand gestures. But I mean it.”

They stood there in the morning hush, two friends now uncertain of where they stood. Despite her anger, Lena felt an urge to hug him, to cling to something familiar. But she resisted; she wasn’t ready to forgive, and closeness would muddy the clarity she needed.

Instead, she inclined her head towards the door in a gentle but unmistakable gesture. “I need some time, Jack.”

He accepted that with a quiet resignation. He retrieved the abandoned coffee and bag from the console. “At least take this,” he insisted softly, holding them out.

Lena eyed the offering. The idea of food still didn’t appeal, but her stomach chose that moment to twist painfully, reminding her she was running on empty. She nodded and took the coffee cup. It was still warm. The croissant she left in the bag – maybe later, she thought, without commitment.

Jack stepped to the door, then hesitated. “Will you be alright? I could stay, or send someone…”

“I’ll be fine,” Lena said quickly. The last thing she wanted was another caretaker, another guard, even if it was a well-meaning friend. “I just need to think.”

Jack gave a solemn nod. He opened the door and then turned back, one foot over the threshold. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “you were never used, Lena. Not by me, not by Kara. We might have deceived you, but our feelings… they were always genuine.”

Lena swallowed, unable to reply to that without her voice betraying her again. So she simply stared at him, letting her silence be acknowledgement enough.

Jack seemed to accept that. With a final, regretful smile, he whispered, “Take care of yourself,” and quietly pulled the door shut as he left.

As soon as he was gone, Lena exhaled a long breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The stillness returned, and with it, a rush of fresh confusion and hurt crashing over her like a wave.

She turned and leaned back against the closed door, letting her head thump gently against the wood. The coffee cup trembled in her hand, and she had to steady it with her other. Loved. Jack’s voice echoed in her ears: You are loved. Why did those words, which she had yearned for all her life, feel like a burden instead of a gift right now?

Lena slid down to sit on the floor, back against the door. The cool wood against her spine was grounding. She set the coffee aside and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes until she saw sparks behind her lids. She wouldn’t cry more. She refused to spend any more tears on this, at least not now when she needed to think.

What was she supposed to do with all of this? If Kara truly loved her, did it excuse anything? No, her heart hissed in pain and anger. It did not excuse the lie. If Kara loved her, then Kara had broken her heart with full awareness of what she was doing. That was almost unforgivable.

But a softer voice in her, one that sounded achingly like hope, whispered that if Kara loved her, maybe what they had was real. Maybe the warmth and safety Lena had felt in Kara’s arms was as genuine as it seemed, not just a fabricated illusion. It meant her instincts about Kara’s goodness weren’t entirely wrong… except Kara had still lied.

Lena let her hands fall from her face. She stared blankly across the foyer, where faint daylight glinted on the glass umbrella stand. Her mind felt like a battleground of opposing emotions.

She thought of Kara’s eyes again, in that split second before she left last night. Devastated, full of unspoken apologies, maybe love. If only Kara had said it – if she had just spoken the words, told Lena then and there that she loved her, would it have made any difference? Lena wasn’t sure. It might have only incited her fury further or broken her resolve entirely.

“God,” Lena whispered to the empty room. She had thought being shot at and kidnapped was the worst thing that had happened this week. She was wrong. It was this – this choking uncertainty about the one person she had allowed herself to be vulnerable with.

Her gaze caught on the foil blanket still on the floor. She remembered Kara draping her own coat over Lena’s shoulders after whisking her out of that warehouse. Lena had shrugged it off, unwilling to take even that comfort from her then. But Kara had insisted, her voice gentle yet firm: “You’re shaking, please.” Lena, stubborn and reeling, had refused to meet her eyes even as she’d allowed the coat for the short journey home.

It was such a Kara thing to do – putting Lena first. Even in disgrace, Kara’s instinct was to care for her. Was that the protector role, or was it love? Perhaps both.

Lena took a long sip of the flat white, the taste bitter and rich on her tongue. She normally took sugar, but she realised dully that Jack hadn’t had a chance to put it in. It didn’t matter; the bitterness suited her mood. The caffeine eased some of her lightheadedness, and with that clarity, one thought began to emerge above the rest:

She needed answers. Real answers, not just Jack’s well-meaning interpretation.

He had given her what he could, and while she believed Jack believed Kara’s love to be true, Lena’s trust was so thoroughly shattered that she didn’t know what to believe anymore. She had been blind to so much – what if Jack was blind to something too? Or trying too hard to see the good?

There were other pieces of this puzzle too – the threats, the danger that was apparently still not over. Morgan Edge’s name had come up as a suspect in one of the earlier threats, she recalled from security briefings. He was likely behind her kidnapping, though she hadn’t got confirmation. If so, he was still out there, unpunished, possibly plotting his next move.

Anger flared at the thought. Morgan Edge had tried to destroy her work and kill her, perhaps even succeeded in destroying the fragile happiness she’d found with Kara. He was an enemy she could quantify and fight, unlike her amorphous heartbreak.

Focusing on Edge was almost a relief – it gave her something tangible to latch onto besides her pain. But to take on Edge, to really understand the threat, she needed information. The DEO likely had intel they weren’t sharing with her (why would they now, after all that happened?). And Kara… Kara likely knew the most about the ongoing danger. She might even be hunting Edge as they spoke, fuelled by guilt and anger.

Kara. It always came back to Kara.

Lena drew her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them. Eyes closed, she allowed herself, for just a moment, to feel the full weight of longing that she had kept at bay. She missed Kara. It was absurd and infuriating to admit, but she did. Despite everything, her heart yearned for the calm assurance of Kara’s presence. Kara had become entwined in her daily life – her morning coffees and her late-night brainstorming sessions, her quiet weekend walks by the Thames. Kara had laughed with her, cooked with her, even held her as she slept when nightmares of failure and family used to wake her. How was Lena supposed to excise all of that from herself in one night?

The betrayal was deep, yes, and her trust in Kara was broken. But the loss… the loss felt immeasurable.

She could not simply slip back into life as it was before Kara. That life now felt distant, hollow. The notion terrified her – that perhaps despite her anger, she might still need Kara. Not as a bodyguard or a covert agent, but as the woman she had come to care for so deeply.

A tear splashed onto her knee. Lena sucked in a breath, straightening her back against the door again. Enough. She’d had enough of being at the mercy of emotions swirling inside her. Hurt, yes. Angry, absolutely. But she was Lena Luthor, and Lena Luthor did not remain a victim, not of terrorists and not of heartbreak.

If she let this pain consume her, Edge would win. Her own demons would win. She’d retreat into that safe shell and lose any chance of reclaiming the pieces of her life that still mattered – including, possibly, the truth of what Kara was to her.

Jack’s parting words echoed: You are loved.

It hurt to hear, and she wasn’t ready to embrace it. But what she could do was not let that love, if it indeed existed, be another casualty of this nightmare. Not without understanding it fully.

She couldn’t forgive Kara right now. Forgiveness was a distant idea, buried under too much raw hurt. But she could seek the truth. About everything.

Swallowing the last of the coffee, Lena rose from the floor slowly. Her legs tingled with pins-and-needles from sitting too long, and her body protested the sudden movement, sore muscles making her wince. She tossed the empty cup aside. It clattered onto the hardwood, rolling until it hit the wall and came to rest.

Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror above the console – she looked almost as much a mess as Jack had, albeit in a more understated way. Her dark hair hung limp around her face, still slightly damp from the earlier shower. A faint purple bruise shadowed her cheek, and the gash at her temple was closed with neat stitches hidden under a small adhesive bandage. Her eyes were red-rimmed, green irises stark and bright in contrast. She looked exactly like what she was: a woman who’d been through hell and come out the other side shattered, but alive.

Alive. Yes, she was. Kara had ensured that. And now, what Lena did with that life was back in her hands.

She thought of her work – L-Corp, her mission to change the world’s fate, which had been the centre of her life until a certain blonde hurricane of a woman blew in and expanded Lena’s universe to include more than just work. For weeks now, she had been balancing both – her project deadlines and stolen evenings with Kara, late nights in the lab with flirty texts from Kara lighting up her phone. Now her personal life lay in ruins, but her work still beckoned. And perhaps diving into that would give her stability.

But she knew herself. She wouldn’t be able to focus on carbon reactors and board meetings until this personal maelstrom was addressed – at least in her own mind.

Lena drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. One step at a time. First, she needed the comfort of someone who had never lied to her, who had known her from way before she became a hardened CEO with trust issues. She needed Sam.

Sam Arias was likely already worried sick. Lena recalled ignoring a barrage of texts from her last night – she hadn’t had it in her to respond to anyone. Sam had always been her rock, her blunt, brilliant best friend who never hesitated to call Lena out or pick her up when she fell. If anyone would help her sort through this tangle, it was Sam.

Decision made, Lena moved with newfound purpose. She snatched her phone from where it lay discarded on the sofa. As expected, multiple missed notifications blinked on the screen: texts from Sam (“Lena, call me as soon as you get this. I heard something happened.” “Lena??” “I’m about to hop in a cab to your place, I swear to God.” and finally, “Jack told me you’re safe. I’m here if you need me. Anytime.”). There were also missed calls from Sam and one from an unknown number that was likely Kara’s sister or someone from DEO trying to follow up. Those she dismissed.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. It was still early – only about half past seven now. Sam would likely drop everything the instant she knew Lena was reaching out. Still, Lena hesitated. Summoning Sam meant facing all of this out loud, and she wasn’t sure she could hold it together through that.

Then she remembered Sam’s last text: Jack told me you’re safe. I’m here if you need me. Typical Jack, to update Sam. He knew they were effectively Lena’s family.

Lena’s heart squeezed with gratitude and affection for her friend. She pressed dial on Sam’s number before she could overthink it.

It barely rang half a tone before a harried voice answered, “Lena? Lena! Oh thank God. Are you alright? Where are you?”

The rush of concern in Sam’s tone was both comforting and undoing. Lena felt her eyes sting again, simply at hearing someone who genuinely cared and had no secrets in their voice.

“I’m home,” Lena managed to say. Her voice sounded small to her own ears, and she cleared her throat. “I’m… safe.”

A shaky exhale came over the line. Sam must have been holding her breath. “I’m coming over,” she said immediately.

Lena didn’t protest. For once, she didn’t have the strength or desire to insist she was fine on her own. “Okay.”

“Ten minutes, tops,” Sam affirmed. She was already moving; Lena could hear keys grabbing and a door opening on Sam’s end. “Do you need anything? Coffee? I mean, I have no idea what you’ve- Actually, scratch that, I’ll just raid your kitchen if I have to.”

Despite herself, Lena’s lips twitched towards something like a grin at Sam’s babbling determination. “I have coffee here,” she said softly. “But thank you.”

“Alright. Sit tight, I’m on my way. And Lena?” Sam’s voice gentled, a tenderness underlying her urgency. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I was-” Her breath hitched. “Just sit tight, okay?”

“Okay,” Lena repeated. The word trembled slightly.

They hung up. Lena stood there holding the phone for a moment. She hadn’t realised how badly she needed to hear a friendly voice until now. She took a deep breath, trying to centre herself for the oncoming conversation. Sam would want answers – why did Jack call her, what exactly had happened – and Lena needed to be able to talk about it without falling apart.

She glanced down at her tea-stained coffee table and the living room still littered with evidence of the chaotic night (the foil blanket, her ruined blouse draped over a chair, the first aid kit left open by the doctor on the counter). Perhaps tidying up a bit would occupy her until Sam arrived.

By the time a soft knock sounded at the door precisely nine minutes later, Lena had at least managed to straighten the living area. The foil blanket was folded and tossed aside, the first aid kit closed, the soiled clothes hidden away. It was a small illusion of order, but she needed even the faintest impression of control.

She opened the door, and there was Sam – slightly out of breath, auburn-brown hair windblown, her coat hastily thrown over a t-shirt and yoga pants, as if she’d been halfway through a morning workout when crisis called. Sam’s eyes, dark and keen, scanned Lena head to toe in an instant. Without a word, she surged forward and wrapped Lena in a fierce hug.

Lena froze for half a heartbeat – the shock of contact against her raw emotions – and then melted. Sam’s arms were strong and sure, and they held her together when she feared she might crumble. Lena found herself gripping the back of Sam’s shirt tightly, her face pressing into Sam’s shoulder. She didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound, but her body shook with the effort of holding everything in.

Sam made a soothing noise, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Lena’s head in that protective, motherly way she had. “I’m here,” Sam whispered. “I’m here.”

They stood like that in the doorway for a long moment. Eventually, Lena drew back, inhaling shakily. “Sorry,” she murmured, embarrassed by her silent desperation.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Sam said, her voice gentle but brooking no argument. She kept her hands on Lena’s shoulders, as if to physically reinforce that she had her. Sam’s gaze traveled to the bandage on Lena’s temple, the bruise, the faint shadows under her eyes. Her jaw tightened and a flash of anger sparked in her eyes. “God, look at you… I swear I’ll kill whoever did this.”

Lena managed a tired half-smile. “Get in line,” she said softly. The fact that Sam’s first thought was retribution warmed her. Fiercely loyal indeed.

Sam ushered them inside and closed the door behind her. She turned, scanning the apartment. “Is anyone else here? Jack? That blonde agent of his?”

The mention of Kara - though not by name - was like a jolt. “No,” Lena said quickly. “Just me. Jack left a short while ago. And Kara… she’s not here.”

Sam nodded, her expression carefully neutral at the name. She guided Lena gently towards the sofa. “Come on. Sit. You look ready to keel over.”

Lena allowed herself to be led and sank down on the couch. Sam perched next to her, angled so she could see Lena’s face. For a moment, Sam simply took one of Lena’s hands in hers and rubbed soothing circles with her thumb, a gesture from years of friendship that had calmed Lena’s nerves through many an ordeal.

Finally, Sam spoke softly, “Jack only told me bits and pieces. That you’d been taken, and that you were safe now. And… something about that friend of yours not being who we thought.” Sam’s lips pressed thin, anger seeping through again before she tempered it. “I didn’t want to push him for details. I figured I should hear it from you. If you want to talk about it.”

Lena looked down at their joined hands. Sam’s nails were painted a fierce red, a stark contrast against Lena’s pale, unadorned fingers. She focused on that small detail to ground herself. “It’s a long story,” she said quietly.

Sam nodded. “I cleared my morning. Ruby’s at her friend’s for a playdate. I’m all yours for as long as you need.”

Of course she was. Lena felt gratitude swell in her chest. She didn’t answer right away, gathering her thoughts. How to even begin?

Sam waited patiently. She’d always had a knack for reading Lena’s pace; she never rushed her.

After a few false starts in her mind, Lena simply started with what felt simplest: the facts. Haltingly, she recounted the events. The threats she’d received over the past weeks (Sam knew of those; they’d discussed them often, but Lena admitted now just how bad they’d become). Jack’s proposition to provide covert security. That part made Sam raise an eyebrow and mutter an expletive under her breath, but she let Lena continue.

Then Lena explained about Kara – who she was supposed to be, a writer, and who she really was, an elite security agent placed in Lena’s life under cover. She found herself speaking about Kara almost clinically at first, as if trying to detach the personal feelings from the recounting. But when she described the moment of revelation, her voice wavered. “I saw her take down armed men like it was nothing, Sam. The woman I thought I knew… I didn’t know her at all. She was someone else entirely, right in front of me.”

Sam squeezed her hand. “But she saved you,” she prompted gently, not as a defence, but to keep Lena moving through the memory.

“Yes,” Lena whispered. “She did. She saved me, and she lied to me all at once. I don’t… I still don’t know how to reconcile that.”

The tears she had been fighting made another appearance. Sam reached to the side table and plucked a tissue from the box conveniently placed there (the doctor had probably left it within reach last night). She handed it to Lena, who accepted it with a nod of thanks and dabbed at her eyes.

“She lied,” Lena repeated, voice thick. “All this time, she was pretending to be my friend-” She stopped, corrected herself bitterly, “No, more than a friend. We were… involved.” It felt strange to say it aloud to Sam, but Sam knew anyway from their girl talk that Lena had been falling for Kara. “And every minute of it was based on a lie. She was here to protect me from a threat, not because she genuinely wanted to be here. I was just… a task.”

“A task?” Sam said, frowning deeply. “Lena, I’m going to stop you right there.” Her tone was firm, the one she used when Lena was spiralling into self-blame or doubt and needed a reality check. “Are you seriously telling me that you think this woman spent weeks living by your side, acting like your perfect match, just as some professional duty? Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

Lena blinked, startled by Sam’s frankness. “But-”

“No. No buts.” Sam held up a hand. “I wasn’t around for most of these cosy moments you two shared, but even I could tell through one lunch date and what you told me on the phone that you were crazy about each other. I thought it was disgustingly adorable, for the record. The way you talked about her… Lena, I haven’t heard you talk about anyone like that in, well, ever.”

Lena felt herself flush, remnants of that happiness flaring in memory. “That was before I knew-”

“Yes, and guess what? She is the same person you were gushing about,” Sam interjected. “She didn’t suddenly develop a new personality when she whipped out a gun. She’s the same Kara who charmed you over coffee and made you watch Star Wars for the first time-yes, you told me that, and I’m still proud I finally got you to watch it via proxy,” Sam added with a tiny grin that quickly faded back to seriousness. “My point is: Kara may have lied about her job, but she wasn’t lying every moment she spent with you. She couldn’t have been. No one’s that good.”

Lena opened her mouth to argue, but Sam barreled on, not letting her slip back into self-doubt. “Jack confirmed it, didn’t he? He told me as much on the phone – that Kara hated having to deceive you, that she fell for you. That’s not a lie, Lena. You can’t fake falling in love like that. And I think, deep down, you know she wasn’t faking it. Am I wrong?”

Lena’s lips trembled. That was the crux of it, and Sam had zeroed in with her usual precision. Deep down, you know. Do I? Lena wondered. Last night, her faith in that had been obliterated. But in the quiet since, and with Jack’s insistence, and now Sam’s… There was a part of her that did feel the truth of it. That felt Kara’s love in every memory, if she dared to let herself.

“That doesn’t erase what she did,” Lena said softly, after a moment. It wasn’t an answer to Sam’s question directly; it was all she had.

Sam nodded. “No. It doesn’t. She put you through hell. And I’ll be honest, I want to throttle her a bit for it.” There was real anger in Sam’s eyes on Lena’s behalf, but also restraint, as if she knew that doing so outright might wound Lena more. “But I also know that if all she wanted was to do a job, she wouldn’t have got tangled up like this. She could’ve kept you at arm’s length. Instead, she…” Sam hesitated, then sighed, “She made you happy, Lena. Happier than I’ve seen you in ages.”

Lena let out a shuddering breath. Hearing that only reminded her of what was lost. She leaned back against the sofa, head resting on the cushion, and gazed up at the ceiling. “I was happy,” she admitted. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “And now I feel… I don’t even know. Hollow. Angry. Lonely.” The last word came out so quietly she almost didn’t hear herself.

Sam heard. She squeezed Lena’s hand again. “I’m here,” she repeated, echoing what she’d said at the door. “You’re not alone, okay? I know it’s not the same, but you’ve still got me. And Jess, and honestly probably half your R&D department ready to send you cat memes if you’d just let them in. You have people who love you.”

Lena closed her eyes. Sam’s unwavering loyalty was a balm on her soul, even as she felt unworthy of it at the moment. “I know. I just… I feel like this confirmed everything I was afraid of.”

Sam was silent a beat, giving her space to continue.

Lena swallowed. Now that she’d started, it poured out. “All my life, I’ve been terrified that anyone who shows me love has an agenda. That maybe I’m only valued for what I can do, or what I can give. My mother wanted an heir, my brother wanted a protégé, the board wants a figurehead… and Kara…” Her voice trembled, “Kara wanted a successful mission.”

Sam made a sound of protest but Lena kept talking. “I thought she wanted me. Just me. Lena, not Luthor, not CEO, not target or asset. Just the woman she had dinners with and took on ridiculous museum dates. And maybe she did, part of her, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was there under false pretences. That I was being handled and watched like… like some assignment the whole time I was baring my soul to her.”

Her voice finally cracked fully. There it was, the raw wound laid open. She felt simultaneously relieved and exposed for having said it.

Sam’s eyes were moist too now; she looked at Lena with such empathy it nearly broke Lena apart. “Lena, listen to me,” she said, gentle but unwavering. “What your mother and Lex did to you – that was real shitty. They messed with your head and heart in ways no kid should endure. But Kara Danvers is not your mother. She’s not Lex. And you are not that little girl or awkward teen who had to wonder if she was worth loving for her, not for the Luthor name.”

Lena bit her lip hard, tasting blood. Sam’s words were slicing through her defences ruthlessly.

“You are worth loving, for you,” Sam continued, reaching to tilt Lena’s chin, making Lena face her. “Jack loves you, platonically or whatever – look at the lengths he went to protect you. Misguided, yes, but it came from love. I love you, sis. I’ve loved you since we were thirteen and you helped me cheat on that algebra test.”

That earned the smallest watery chuckle from Lena. Sam smiled softly and pushed a strand of Lena’s hair back behind her ear.

“And I am pretty damn sure Kara loves you too. Actually, strike that, I know she does. Because if she didn’t, she would have just done her job and kept it professional. Instead she let you in – or rather, she walked right into your life and let you in to hers, even if not completely honestly. She cared. You can’t fake that level of caring. Not with you, of all people – you’d have sniffed out a purely professional suck-up in a week. Isn’t that true?”

Lena looked down, considering. Would she have noticed if Kara’s warmth was all an act? She wasn’t sure, she’d never suspected… but was that because Kara was that good, or because Kara genuinely wasn’t faking those parts?

When Lena didn’t answer, Sam nudged her. “Give yourself some credit. You saw something in Kara, which is why you fell for her. That something was real. She might have been lying about her background, but that spark you guys had? That was no lie.”

“I want to believe that,” Lena admitted, voice small.

Sam sighed and pulled Lena into another side hug, letting Lena rest her head on Sam’s shoulder. “I know. And you will, eventually, if it’s true. Which I think it is. But I also get that right now you’re hurt and trust isn’t exactly your forte on a good day.”

That was putting it mildly. Lena gave a half nod, half nuzzle into Sam’s supportive embrace.

They sat quietly for a minute, the only sound the distant city traffic far below and their breathing. Lena felt some of the tightness in her chest slowly easing. Sam’s presence was like a soothing compress on an inflamed wound – not healing it outright, but taking away some of the sting.

After a while, Sam spoke again, thoughtful. “So, what now? What do you want to do about all this?”

Lena lifted her head, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, what do you want, Lena? Not what Jack apologised for or what Kara might feel. What do you want to happen next? Have you thought that far?”

Lena had been so mired in feelings that she hadn’t clearly articulated that to herself yet. “I… I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Part of me wants to never see any of them again. Just close off and focus on work. That’d be simpler.”

At that, Sam gave a snort. “Simpler, maybe. But not better.”

Lena cast her a sideways glance. Sam held her gaze. “Better as in healthier for you. You can’t just shut this away, Lee. It’ll eat you alive. We both know how you get when you’re hurt. Retreating to your ivory tower might feel safe but it won’t make you happy. And it won’t solve the actual problem of whoever tried to hurt you either.”

Lena knew Sam was right. Hiding from this would solve nothing. And Edge would still be out there if he indeed masterminded this.

“I need the truth,” Lena said, almost to herself. “About the threats, about Kara… all of it. I can’t just take Jack’s and your word for it. I need to hear it from her. Or see it with my own eyes.”

Sam nodded, something like pride flickering over her face. “That’s my girl. Investigator hat on.”

Lena felt a faint stirring of determination in her gut as she thought about it more. “I have questions she needs to answer. Why she didn’t trust me with the truth when things became… when we became involved. Who exactly threatened my life and is that threat really gone? What lines was she willing to cross for this mission?” Her voice hardened. “If she’d go so far as to lie to my face every day, what else was she doing behind the scenes that I don’t know?”

It felt good to frame it like this, as if it were one of her problem-solving sessions at work. Identify the unknowns, make a plan to gather data.

Sam, bless her, didn’t remind Lena that Kara likely saved her multiple times covertly – she knew that wasn’t the point of Lena’s question. Instead she said, “How are you going to get those answers?”

Lena bit her lip. “Kara left the DEO, according to Jack. Or she intended to. She might be… I don’t know, holed up somewhere. I doubt she’ll approach me any time soon, not unless I indicate I want to talk. And I don’t think I’m ready for that face-to-face just yet.”

She paused, picking at a stray thread on her sleeve. “But I can start by understanding everything that happened around me. The threats, who was behind it all – if there’s still a danger. That’s something concrete I can handle. I have resources too. It’s time I use them, rather than letting others manoeuvre around me.”

A fierceness crept into her tone by the end. That was the anger she could use – not the kind directed inward or at Kara, but at the people who had truly set this chain of events in motion. Morgan Edge. The kidnappers. Whoever wanted her dead or her work destroyed.

Sam nodded approvingly. “That sounds like a plan to me. Take back some control.”

“Yes,” Lena said, straightening fully. She realised she was still leaning on Sam and gently pulled back, mustering a small smile. “I’m not letting anyone else decide what’s best for me without my input, not anymore. Not Jack, not Kara, not even the DEO. If there are threats against me, I will be part of addressing them. And if Kara…” She took a breath, steadying herself. “If Kara truly had reasons for everything she did, then she can tell them to my face, if and when I decide I want to hear them. On my terms.”

Sam squeezed her knee. “There she is. There’s the brilliant, stubborn woman I know and love.”

Lena felt a slight warmth of pride reawakening. It had been buried under shock and hurt, but her core self – the one who built a company from nothing, who faced down far more powerful men in boardrooms without flinching – was still there. She just needed this reminder.

“Will you be alright?” Sam asked gently. “I mean, doing all this. I can help however you need. Digging up intel, punching shady dudes, burying the bodies-”

A genuine laugh bubbled from Lena’s chest at Sam’s casual list of mayhem. It felt foreign to laugh, but good. “I suspect I may take you up on at least one of those offers,” she said. Then, more earnestly, “Thank you, Sam. For everything. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sam’s eyes softened. “You’ll never have to find out.”

They embraced again, a calmer hug this time. Lena closed her eyes, absorbing strength from her friend.

When they parted, Sam looked at her searchingly. “You know, it’s okay if you want to forgive her eventually,” she said, almost offhandedly but Lena could hear the careful measure behind it. “No one would blame you. The heart wants what it wants and all that crap.”

Lena felt a pang at the thought. Forgiveness seemed far away. But the mere mention of it made her realise that some part of her already ached to move past the anger – not to excuse Kara, but to not lose Kara entirely.

“I’m not ready to even consider that,” Lena murmured truthfully. “Not yet.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said. “Just… don’t block it out if it comes. You deserve to be happy, Lena. Even if it’s with someone who monumentally screwed up first.” She gave a wry grin. “Life’s messy. Love is messy. And you have had more than your fair share of mess, my friend.”

Lena mustered a faint smile. “That’s putting it kindly.”

They lapsed into silence. Sam leaned back, seemingly content just to sit with Lena for as long as needed. And Lena appreciated that - but she also felt a stirring of urgency now, a need to do something.

Her eyes drifted to her laptop on the dining table across the room. Likely, the DEO had left some files for her, or perhaps Jack had forwarded things. Perhaps she could start by reviewing every scrap of intel on the threat.

As if reading her mind, Sam patted her knee and stood. “How about I make us some proper breakfast, hmm? You look like you could use fuel. And I know my way around your kitchen by now.”

“You really don’t have to-” Lena began to protest, but Sam fixed her with a mild glare.

“I’m making omelettes, you can’t stop me. Mushroom and cheese acceptable?”

Lena realized then how hungry she actually was now that the adrenaline of emotion had ebbed. The croissant Jack brought was still untouched. A home-cooked omelette by Sam sounded far more palatable. “That would be lovely, actually. Thank you.”

Sam nodded, satisfied. “You, start doing whatever big brain thing you’re plotting over there,” she said, jerking her chin towards the laptop. “I’ll call you when it’s ready. And by call, I mean shout from ten feet away, because this place is too bloody big.”

Lena managed a more genuine grin at that. Trust Sam to find a way to make her smile no matter the circumstances.

As Sam disappeared into the modern gleam of the kitchen, already clattering pans, Lena rose and walked to the dining table. She picked up her laptop and opened it, the screen springing to life. Her wallpaper was a serene image of the L-Corp campus building, but her eyes went immediately to a folder on the desktop – one that hadn’t been there before. Labeled simply: “DEO Briefing - Lena”.

She clicked it, heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and determination. Inside were files – reports on the investigation into the threat, profiles, photos of known Edge associates, timelines of incidents. Jack or someone must have ensured she got a copy of everything now that the secret was out. It was a trove of data confirming how serious the threat had been – and possibly still was.

As she began to read, she felt the last vestiges of helplessness fall away. This was something she could wrap her mind around. Facts, evidence, puzzles to solve. And solve them she would.

She would find out who orchestrated her kidnapping, who had set this all into motion. And she would make sure they faced justice, one way or another.

And Kara… their story wasn’t done, Lena realised. Not by a long shot. Not unless she chose it to be, and she wasn’t ready to close that door yet.

She wasn’t ready to open it fully either – her heart was still too raw. But she could take the first steps, on her own terms, to understand.

She couldn’t forgive. Not yet. But she was done being passive. Done being kept in the dark.

Whatever it took, she would learn the truth – about her enemies, and about Kara Danvers. And she would decide for herself what to do with it.

As she began to read, the faint aroma of sautéing mushrooms drifted in from the kitchen, homey and reassuring. In that gentle normalcy, Lena felt a spark light within her – the spark of purpose reigniting.

She didn’t forgive. Not yet. But she was done with passivity, done with lies, done with fear ruling her.

Whatever came next, she would meet it head-on. On her own terms, in her own way.

And God help anyone – enemy or erstwhile lover alike – who tried to take that agency from her again.

Chapter Text

Lena sat at her dining table with the morning light slanting across a scatter of documents and an open laptop. The omelette Sam had made lay half-eaten on a plate beside her, gone cold. Sam had left not long ago, once satisfied that Lena wouldn’t collapse under the weight of her trauma or starve out of stubbornness. In her wake, she’d left a semblance of normalcy: a clean kitchen, the comforting smell of coffee and cooked mushrooms, and a fierce hug that still lingered like an anchor. Now Lena was alone again – and she preferred it, or so she told herself. It was easier to maintain control with no one else watching.

On the screen before her was a DEO briefing folder, its contents dense with reports and analysis. Lena’s jaw tightened as she scrolled through yet another incident summary. Each dryly worded paragraph was a revelation of how deep this rabbit hole of threats went. Weeks before the kidnapping, there had been other attempts on her life, other “accidents” she’d naively brushed. A sniper’s bullet had shattered the glass at a conference she spoke at – she’d assumed it was vandalism, but here it was labeled as an assassination attempt foiled by Agent Danvers at great personal risk. A car that nearly hit her in a crosswalk – not a careless driver, but a deliberate attack, thwarted by Kara’s intervention that Lena hadn’t even noticed. The scaffolding that collapsed outside her office last week – sabotage, not chance. Each line she read was a fresh blow: how could so much have happened around her without her even realising?

Lena clenched her fists, willing herself to remain composed. It was infuriating to see her life treated in such clinical terms – Asset was escorted to safety, Lethal force authorized on assailant, Threat neutralised. She was the “asset,” she realised. A target on a page, a problem to be managed. And Kara… Kara had been there in the shadows all along, managing it. Protecting her. Lying to her. The anger that simmered in Lena’s chest was both at the faceless perpetrators who wanted her dead, and at the people who’d kept her in the dark “for her own good.” She swallowed hard and clicked into a file labeled “Primary Suspect – M. Edge.”

Morgan Edge’s profile glared at her: a grainy photo of a silver-haired man with sharklike poise, followed by a list of corporate holdings and whispered allegations. CEO of Edge Tech, one of the world’s largest fossil fuel conglomerates. Net worth in the tens of billions. Dozens of lawsuits and investigations trailing behind him, all stifled or settled.Lena’s eyes darted over the key points: Edge sees L-Corp’s clean energy reactor as an existential threat to his empire… believed to be orchestrating intimidation to halt L-Corp project… uses shell companies to hire mercenaries, maintain plausible deniability. A muscle in her jaw jumped as she read the final line of the summary: Edge’s influence extends into media and politics – direct confrontation high-risk.

So it had been him all along. Lena had suspected – of course she had – but to see it spelled out brought a wave of cold, hard fury. Morgan Edge had engineered a campaign of terror to undercut her work. He’d nearly killed her, multiple times. He had even, in a twisted way, broken her heart: if not for his machinations, Kara Danvers would never have entered her life under false pretences. Kara might have… Lena stopped that line of thought with a shake of her head. No. Focus. Edge was the enemy. Edge is the enemy, she corrected herself. Because he was still out there, free and smug behind his phalanx of lawyers and fixers. The DEO reports confirmed what she already knew: last night’s kidnapping was not an isolated incident. It was one move in a long game, and Edge wasn’t going to stop until either she or her project was destroyed.

She exhaled slowly, trying to release some tension. Her ribs ached from where she’d been thrown to the warehouse floor; her stitched temple throbbed. Physical reminders that you’re alive, she told herself. Alive, when she might not have been. Because Kara— Agent Danvers, she mentally amended with a flare of resentment — had pulled her from the fire. It was a strange thing to reconcile: the very person who had hurt her most was also the one who’d saved her life over and over. There was a knot of something complicated in Lena’s chest whenever she thought about it, so she tried not to. Instead, she focused on the problem she could wrap her head around: Morgan Edge.

A harsh trill from the intercom cut through the quiet, startling her. Lena blinked and realised she’d been staring unseeing at the screen for a good minute, her mind lost in spiraling thoughts. The intercom buzzed again. Likely the doorman, announcing a visitor. Sam? No, Sam would have just used her keycard and barged up. Jess, perhaps, coming to check on her? Or – for one wild, unbidden moment her heart lurched – Kara? Coming to apologize, to say something, anything that might…

Lena stood so abruptly her chair scraped the floor. She tamped down that foolish spark of hope and pressed the intercom. “Yes?” she said, ensuring her voice didn’t betray the sudden drum of her pulse.

“Ms. Luthor,” came the doorman’s polite voice. “There’s a woman here from the D.E.O. – a Lucy Lane – asking to see you. Shall I send her up?”

The D.E.O. Lena closed her eyes briefly. Of course. They just couldn’t quite let go, could they? A day ago, she hadn’t even known the Department of Extranormal Operations was watching her every move. Now its agents were apparently showing up at her door. Part of her wanted to tell the doorman to send Ms. Lane away – she’d had enough of agents and their half-truths – but another part of her, the pragmatic part, was curious. Lucy Lane… the name was vaguely familiar. Kara had mentioned a Lucy once or twice in passing, hadn’t she? And Lena dimly recalled, during the blur of last night’s ordeal, seeing a dark-haired woman in tactical gear among Kara’s colleagues. Lena hadn’t been introduced, but she remembered a calm, authoritative voice cutting through the chaos at the warehouse and again later, issuing orders as Lena was checked by medics. That must have been Lucy Lane.

“Send her up,” Lena replied after a moment. Her tone was cool, betraying none of the nerves fluttering in her stomach. Guarded composure – it was a reflex by now, nearly second nature. She’d face whatever this was head on.

A minute later, a brisk knock sounded. Lena squared her shoulders and went to open the door. On the threshold stood a woman in her mid-thirties, tall and solidly built, with dark brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense braid. She was dressed in civilian clothes – black jeans, a fitted leather jacket over a grey tee – but everything about her screamed military efficiency, from her sturdy boots to the alert set of her brown eyes. Those eyes assessed Lena quickly, as if checking she was indeed alright, before Lucy Lane offered a faint, professional smile.

“Ms. Luthor,” she greeted with a nod. Her voice was low and self-assured. “Thanks for agreeing to see me. I’m Lucy Lane, with the DEO.” She produced an ID card briefly, a mere formality it seemed, because she slipped it away without waiting for Lena’s scrutiny.

“Lucy,” Lena said in acknowledgment. She kept her expression neutral, one hand still braced on the edge of the door. “I remember. You were there last night, weren’t you?”

Lucy’s mouth twitched. “Good memory, considering you had a hell of a night.” There was a hint of dry humour in her tone. “Yes, I was part of the… clean-up crew, let’s say.”

Lena inclined her head. The previous night’s latter half was a haze of shock, but she did recall a confident female agent arriving to assist Kara. Lucy had a presence that was hard to forget. Lena’s gaze flickered over the other woman, taking in the faint dark circles under her eyes. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept, though she carried it better than Jack had. “I take it you didn’t come for small talk. What can I do for you, Agent Lane?” Lena asked evenly.

“Just Lucy is fine,” she replied. She glanced past Lena, into the penthouse. “May I come in for a minute? I promise I’ll be brief. I know you’ve been through the wringer.”

For a second, Lena hesitated. Inviting another DEO agent into her personal space felt like letting the fox back into the henhouse. But Lucy’s posture was devoid of threat – if anything, she seemed… concerned? Or maybe Lena was projecting humanity onto someone who was here on duty. Either way, Lena stepped aside. “Of course. Come in.”

Lucy entered, moving with that predatory grace common to all highly trained operatives. Lena shut the door and turned to face her visitor. Lucy’s eyes swept the living area – the neatness Sam had imposed, the laptop with its screen of open documents, the half-eaten breakfast. She didn’t comment on any of it. Instead, she pivoted to Lena, hands resting loosely at her sides.

“I’ll get straight to it,” Lucy said. “Director Danvers – Alex – wanted someone to check in on you. Off the record, mostly. And, since I was already familiar with the case… here I am.” She gave a small shrug, leaning ever so slightly against the back of Lena’s couch, at ease but not disrespectful. “How are you holding up?”

The question was delivered matter-of-factly, without the syrupy sympathy that often made Lena bristle. Still, Lena found herself reflexively answering with a curt, “I’m fine.” She folded her arms, then realised it looked defensive and let them drop again. “Or at least, I will be.”

Lucy’s lips quirked, as if she knew a deflection when she heard one but wouldn’t call it out. “Glad to hear it.” She nodded toward the laptop. “I see you’ve got the briefing files. Doing some homework?”

Lena allowed a thin smile. “Catching up on all the things I wasn’t trusted to know before.”

Lucy didn’t flinch at the bitterness in her tone. If anything, she looked mildly impressed. “Can’t blame you. If I were in your shoes, I’d do the same. Frankly, I told Alex that treating you like a passive ‘asset’ was a mistake from day one.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Not my department, though.”

The candid admission took Lena by surprise. She hadn’t expected any DEO operative to openly criticise their own strategy. Perhaps Lucy truly was here in good faith. Lena relaxed a fraction, enough to ask, “Is that so?”

Lucy met her eyes. “Yeah. Kara might’ve been assigned as your shadow, but I knew from the intel that you were far from helpless. You built a multi-billion-pound company from scratch. Not exactly the kind of person who should be kept in a gilded cage, even for safety.” She paused, then added wryly, “Kara did mention you have a mean right hook, too.”

Despite herself, Lena’s mouth twitched, a memory surfacing of a self-defense class anecdote she’d once shared with Kara over dinner. It felt like another life. “She flattered me,” Lena replied softly. “Or perhaps not, given I did knock out one of the kidnappers with a microscope slide box yesterday.”

Lucy let out a low whistle. “So the report said. Not bad.” There was respect in her gaze. “Most people in that situation wouldn’t have the wits or guts to fight back at all. You bought Kara time to get to you.”

Lena didn’t know what to do with the flicker of pride that lit inside her at Lucy’s praise. She pushed it aside. “It was adrenaline and luck. I’m just grateful your team arrived when it did.”

“Our team,” Lucy echoed, crossing her arms casually. “Right.” Her brow furrowed, and Lena sensed the conversation shifting into the real reason Lucy had come. “Look… I also wanted to update you on a few things. Kara—”

Lena’s stomach clenched at the sound of her name, and Lucy noticed, trailing off. An awkward beat passed.

“You can say her name,” Lena said, trying to sound unaffected. It was just a name, she told herself. Just a name that once meant the world to me. “What about Kara?”

Lucy nodded, acknowledging Lena’s permission. “Kara tendered her resignation early this morning.” There was a gentle frankness in her tone. “Effective immediately. She’s left the DEO.”

Though Lena had braced for it, the news still landed like a blow. Jack had warned her Kara intended to quit, but some irrational part of Lena had hoped… well, she wasn’t sure what it had hoped. That Kara wouldn’t actually go through with it? That this whole mess could be compartmentalised, with Kara safely at the DEO and Lena nursing her wounds at home? But reality was far messier. Kara was gone, truly gone. She’d cut ties with her organization – for Lena’s sake, or perhaps for her own. A mix of emotions churned in Lena: surprise, anger, and an unmistakable pang of loss. Clean breaks aren’t clean at all, she thought. Kara’s departure from the DEO might have been meant as a clean break – from the lies, from the constraints – but all it had done was scatter more jagged pieces for Lena to grapple with.

“I see,” Lena managed, her voice admirably steady. She lifted her chin, schooling her expression into neutrality as best she could. “She resigned to… what, exactly? Pursue a career in creative writing full-time?”

The acerbic remark slipped out before she could curb it. Lucy gave a short, dry chuckle. “Hardly. She resigned so she could chase down Morgan Edge without any… oversight.” The agent’s mouth flattened. “Kara’s not one for half measures. She made it clear she intends to end Edge’s terror campaign her way.”

Lena’s heart skipped. She intends to end Edge’s terror. That sounded dangerously like Kara planned to wage a one-woman war. “That’s suicide,” Lena said before she could stop herself. The thought of Kara storming off alone to confront a man as powerful and protected as Edge… “She can’t seriously think she can take him down by herself.”

Lucy grimaced. “I told her it was crazy. Alex – her sister – damn near ordered her not to go. But Kara resigned, which means she’s a free agent now. The DEO has no official authority over her actions.” A beat. “Unofficially, Alex sent a couple of us to discreetly keep tabs, but Kara gave us the slip. She’s… very good at going dark when she wants to.” The admission held reluctant admiration.

Of course she is, Lena thought. Kara had lived an elaborate lie under Lena’s nose for weeks with hardly a crack in her facade – disappearing into the ether would be child’s play for someone like her. Still, Lena couldn’t quell her worry. Kara roaming out there, guilt-driven and possibly reckless, made her chest tighten with concern even as another part of her seethed: Kara had no right to still make her worry like this. She forfeited that right when she lied. And yet, Lena’s hands unconsciously gripped the back of a chair, fingertips pressing into the leather. “Do you have any idea where she went?”

Lucy hesitated, then shook her head. “Not for sure. She has a few safe houses and contacts. My guess? She’s off-grid, likely holed up somewhere she can plan. She knows Edge is too powerful to just run at guns blazing. Kara’s impulsive, but not stupid.” Lucy offered a faint smile meant to reassure. “If it helps, she didn’t leave to spite anyone. She left because she felt it was the only way she could do what needs to be done. Kara hates red tape.”

“She helped create that red tape,” Lena muttered, unable to hide the bitterness. “Jack told me how the DEO originally refused his request to guard me. That was Alex Danvers, wasn’t it?”

Lucy nodded. “Alex has rules she has to follow. Kara used to be the same way, by the book. After Berlin… well, Kara learned some rules cost more lives than they save. She hasn’t had much patience for them since.” Lucy’s gaze was steady. “For what it’s worth, I think Kara was right that Edge’s reach would extend even into our agency oversight. She wanted freedom to act quickly.”

Lena absorbed that quietly. After Berlin. There it was again – that name, that mystery in Kara’s past. No doubt some tragic mission, perhaps explaining the scar Lena had noticed once on Kara’s shoulder blade when it peeked out from a tank top. Kara had sidestepped Lena’s questions about it with a sad smile and a promise to tell her “someday.” Now Lena wondered if she’d ever learn that story.

She became aware of an uncomfortable silence. Lucy was watching her, as if weighing how much to say. Lena cleared her throat softly. “Thank you for telling me about her resignation. I suppose you expect me to be relieved she’s gone? If the DEO’s hope was to cauterise the wound quickly, I assure you it’s not so simple.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “I’m not here to influence how you feel about Kara. That’s your business.” She paused. “But I will say this: Kara resigning… it wasn’t about cutting you off. If anything, it was about protecting you.”

Lena frowned. “Protecting me? By abandoning her post?”

“By taking the fight directly to the source,” Lucy corrected. Her tone was factual, devoid of the emotional entanglement that made every conversation with Jack or Sam so fraught. “Edge won’t stop until he’s stopped. Kara knows that. She figured the DEO’s hands were tied in ways hers wouldn’t be if she left. She may be emotionally compromised right now—” at that Lena flinched, and Lucy pressed on, “—but she’s also one of the best operatives I’ve ever seen. If anyone can get to Edge, it’s her.”

Emotionally compromised. That phrase stung, even though Lucy hadn’t said it with malice. It was a clinical description of what Kara was now: a rogue agent with a broken heart, perhaps. Lena’s throat tightened. “And what about the DEO? Are you washing your hands of this entire affair now that your agent is gone and I know the truth?”

“Hardly.” Lucy’s response was immediate, firm. “The DEO still has an open case on the threat against you. Alex is reallocating resources, figuring next steps. Just because Kara went off-reservation doesn’t mean we all have.” She sighed and added candidly, “Though it does throw a pretty big spanner in the works. Kara was lead on this. No one knows the details like her.”

Lena sank into the chair she’d been gripping, suddenly tired. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “So Kara left, and with her goes the most comprehensive knowledge of the threat.”

“Not entirely,” Lucy said. She pushed off the couch and stepped closer, perching on the arm of a chair across from Lena. She kept a respectful distance, but the posture was more conversational now. “She didn’t exactly debrief, but I worked with her closely. And you have the files. Between what you know of your own work and what we suspect about Edge, there’s enough to start connecting the dots.” Lucy’s eyes flicked to the laptop screen, where Edge’s profile was still open. “Edge… he’s a piece of work. We’ve tangled with his proxies before, though never had enough to nail him. The man’s slippery as an eel, and he’s got layers of deniability. He makes sure any crime can’t be traced to him directly. This kidnapping was no different – he hired an intermediary to hire the mercenaries. Money moved through about five shell companies. We’re tracing it, but it’ll take time.”

Lena absorbed that. It matched her own understanding of Edge. He never got his hands dirty. “But you are sure it was him?” she asked quietly. “The brief said he was the prime suspect. Is there… actual proof?”

Lucy pursed her lips. “Proof enough for us, not enough for a courtroom. We’ve got financial data, some recovered communications from one of the mercs’ devices calling an Edge Tech burner phone. It’s circumstantial, but… yeah. We’re sure.” Her voice hardened. “And it fits his MO. Edge has done this to others. Journalists who got too close to exposing him have had mysterious accidents. A politician pushing an environmental bill got blackmailed and ruined. He’s left a trail of broken lives without ever facing consequence.”

Lena felt a chill at the scope of it. She glanced back to the laptop, where lines about Edge’s reach blurred in her vision. “All to protect his profits,” she murmured, disgust and awe mingling. “He’s willing to kill the planet and anyone who interferes just to keep his coffers full.”

“Pretty much,” Lucy said with a mirthless smile. “So when I say Kara’s determined to end his terror, it’s not just about you. It’s bigger. She’s wanted to take him down since she learned what he’s capable of. You were the catalyst, but he’s an enemy to a lot of innocents.”

Lena’s fingers twitched over the trackpad, absently scrolling through Edge’s dossier. A list of incidents scrolled by: oil spill cover-ups, whistleblowers silenced, a scientist from a rival company vanished under suspicious circumstances. She felt sick. How had she been so focused on her own work that she failed to see the war brewing around it? “And my project – my reactor – was the last straw for him,” Lena said. It wasn’t a question. She knew it in her bones. “If we succeed, we render a big part of his empire obsolete.”

Lucy nodded. “Exactly. You threatened not just his ego but his entire business model. That puts a target on you the size of Big Ben.”

Lena managed a thin, tight smile at the gallows humour. “So I’ve noticed.” She closed the laptop gently, the click of the lid punctuating her resolve. “Edge wants a war? He’ll get one. I’m not backing down.”

The fierceness in her own voice surprised her, but it felt good – righteous and galvanising. Her fear and heartbreak had transmuted slowly, alchemically, into anger she could use. For the first time since this nightmare began, Lena felt a glimmer of her old self: the warrior in boardrooms, the genius in laboratories, the woman who did not yield.

Lucy seemed to approve. A faint smile touched her lips. “Glad to hear it. Just… be careful how you wage that war, yeah? Edge isn’t above using collateral damage. And you are not exactly expendable.”

Lena arched a brow. “To the world, or to the DEO?”

“To the world,” Lucy answered without hesitation. “Your work matters, Lena. I get that now more than ever. And to be frank, after seeing how far Edge went… I think your reactor must be something truly revolutionary if it scares him this badly.”

The earnestness in Lucy’s tone humbled Lena. She wasn’t accustomed to field agents regarding her with anything but polite dismissal – she was the “egghead” in the lab, the corporate type. But Lucy looked at her as if she were an integral part of this fight, not a task to be handled. It felt… good.

“Thank you,” Lena said softly. “I won’t sit on the sidelines. Not anymore.”

Lucy nodded. “Good. Alex will probably set up a formal debrief later, but I wanted to talk to you informally first – without all the suits. And to let you know, if you decide to do any digging on your own, watch your back. Edge has eyes everywhere.”

“I will,” Lena promised. She hesitated, then added, “And… if you dig into Edge, watch yours. He might retaliate against anyone helping me.” It felt strange to be worrying for this woman she barely knew, but Lucy had stuck her neck out just by being here and speaking plainly. In Lena’s experience, candour in a bureaucracy often came at a cost.

Lucy’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Appreciate the concern, but don’t worry about me. I eat billionaires-for-breakfast types like Edge for lunch.”

Despite the heavy topic, Lena found herself giving a genuine, small chuckle. “That sounded more coherent in your head, I assume.”

Lucy laughed lightly, the sound brief but warm. “Probably. I haven’t slept, cut me some slack.” She stood up from the chair’s arm, a signal that her time here was ending. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re… well, not glad you’re in this mess, but glad you’re handling it. Kara was right about one thing: you’re not someone who needs coddling.”

At the mention of Kara, the air between them shifted slightly. Lena lowered her eyes for a moment. So many conflicting feelings still roiled within her at that name. “No,” she murmured. “Coddling is the last thing I need.”

Lucy studied Lena’s face, her expression unreadable. There was a question in her eyes that she seemed to debate internally whether to voice. In the end, she spoke, and her voice had gentled. “For what it’s worth… I know Kara hated how this played out. She cares about you. Deeply.”

Lena’s throat tightened around a sudden lump. That gentle tone – she hadn’t expected that from Lucy. It was almost like Sam’s voice earlier, or Jack’s last night, offering her those same truths she wasn’t sure what to do with. Lena forced a brittle smile. “I’ve been told as much. It doesn’t change that she lied.”

“True,” Lucy conceded. She didn’t try to argue or justify, which Lena appreciated. Instead she ran a hand over her braid and admitted, “I warned her, you know. When I first saw that she was getting close to you, I told her feelings can compromise a mission. ‘Feelings get people killed’ – that’s what I said to her.” Lucy sighed. “I thought her attachment might cloud her judgement at a critical moment. In a way, it did – she tore out of HQ that night against orders the second we traced your location. She didn’t wait for full backup. Nearly got herself shot a dozen times pulling you out.”

Lena’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t known those details, but she pictured Kara in her tactical gear, blue eyes blazing with single-minded panic, ploughing through danger to reach her. It was terrifying and heart-rending all at once. “That sounds like her,” Lena whispered, a tremor in her voice.

Lucy offered a thin smile. “Point is, Kara didn’t keep her distance. And I’m starting to think… maybe that was necessary. Maybe if she hadn’t cared so much, things could’ve ended worse.” She shrugged. “Hard to know. But I do know she’s absolutely gutted right now. I’ve never seen her like this.”

Lena looked up sharply. “You saw her this morning?”

“A few hours ago, yes. Before she ghosted us.” Lucy’s gaze turned sympathetic despite her evident attempt to keep things businesslike. “She looked… well, like hell. Like she lost her best friend. Which I guess she did.”

A piercing ache shot through Lena’s chest at that. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, and blinked rapidly. She would not cry in front of yet another person, she couldn’t. “I appreciate you telling me,” she managed tightly.

Lucy raised her hands slightly, as if in surrender. “Sorry. I’m not trying to upset you. And I’m not here to plead her case. Kara’s choices are her own, and she’ll have to live with them.”

“No need to apologize,” Lena said, regaining control. “I prefer honesty, even when it hurts.”

That earned a nod of respect from Lucy. She straightened fully, rolling her shoulders. “Alright. I should let you get back to… well, plotting whatever you’re plotting.” There was that hint of humour again. She began to move toward the door, then stopped and turned back to Lena, her expression earnest. “Just remember, you’re not alone in this. Jack, your friend Sam, even we at the DEO – we all want Edge brought down. If you need resources or an extra pair of eyes, I’m only a call away. I know you might not trust us, but the offer stands.”

Lena studied the woman before her – this sharp-edged, straightforward soldier who had unexpectedly become an ally of sorts. Trust was a fragile thing for Lena, and yet she found she did trust Lucy, at least in this: Lucy had no reason to lie or sugarcoat, and she hadn’t. “Thank you, Lucy,” Lena said sincerely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lucy gave a small salute-like gesture, two fingers from her brow. “Take care of yourself, Lena. Edge would be a fool to come at you again when you’re prepared, but then, he’s already proven his foolishness by underestimating you. Just… watch your six.”

“I will,” Lena promised.

With that, Lucy stepped out. Lena walked her to the door, pulling it open. Lucy paused on the threshold. “Oh, one more thing.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a slim black smartphone. “Kara’s burner.” She placed it on the entryway table. “She ditched it, probably has a new one now. We already cloned it for intel – nothing much on it – so you can have it if… I don’t know, if she calls or if you want to throw it off a cliff. Your call.”

The phone lay there like a coiled snake. Lena stared at it, heart pounding. Kara’s phone. It felt like an intimacy she wasn’t sure she wanted or deserved. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unsure if she meant it.

Lucy nodded. “Didn’t want to take it with me. Seems like it should be yours, one way or another.” She pulled a card from her pocket and set it beside the phone – her contact information. “Ring if you need anything. Even if it’s just questions about those files.”

“I will,” Lena said again.

This time, Lucy truly left. The door shut with a soft thud, and the lock clicked home. Lena released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Each of these conversations – Jack, Sam, now Lucy – had chipped away at her walls, exposing raw nerves she was desperate to cover back up. She rubbed her hands over her face, momentarily overwhelmed. But she couldn’t afford to collapse now. She wouldn’t. There was too much to do.

Lena’s gaze fell to the phone Lucy had left. A burner phone – likely untraceable, or formerly used to communicate with DEO securely. Kara’s phone. Why did Lucy leave this? Perhaps in case Kara tried to reach out. Or maybe Lucy thought Lena might want to comb through it herself.

With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, Lena picked up the device. It was cool and inert in her palm. She pressed the power button; nothing happened. Of course, it had been wiped of data and deactivated. Still, holding it felt strange. This had been Kara’s lifeline to the DEO, presumably. A tool of her deception, and also of her heroics.

Lena set it down again with a sigh. Her reflection stared back at her from the hall mirror above the table: pale skin, tired eyes, a bandage at her temple. You look like you’ve been through hell, she thought. But she also saw a spark in those green eyes that hadn’t been there last night – determination. Lucy was right: she was done being passive. Clean break or not, she refused to be broken.

Her movement drew her attention to something draped over the arm of a nearby chair: a black jacket, slightly crumpled. Lena stepped closer, her breath catching. It was Kara’s – the very jacket Kara had wrapped around her shoulders after the rescue. In the chaos, Lena had tossed it aside, too anguished to care. Sam must have folded it neatly and set it there while tidying up.

Now Lena reached out, fingers brushing the material. It was a simple garment, still faintly warm where sunlight from the window touched it. Lena’s throat tightened. Kara’s scent clung to it – a mix of wind, a hint of her soap or shampoo, and something indefinably her. Lena closed her eyes, a wave of longing crashing over her so sudden and fierce it nearly stole her breath. God, she missed her. It didn’t matter how angry she was – her body betrayed her with this visceral ache for Kara’s presence.

Lena gingerly picked up the jacket. The last time she’d been wrapped in it, she’d been shaking with cold and shock, leaning unconsciously into Kara’s solid strength. Kara had kept an arm around her in the car, Lena dimly recalled, rubbing warmth back into her as the adrenaline wore off. At the time, Lena had wanted to push her away and cling to her all at once. Now, holding this piece of Kara close, Lena felt tears prick her eyes. Clean breaks – what a myth. Kara’s absence was everywhere, in every fiber of fabric and every corner of the silent flat.

She forced herself to fold the jacket with crisp, precise motions, as if tidying away all these inconvenient emotions. As she did, something hard within the inner pocket knocked against her wrist. Lena paused. Carefully, she reached inside and withdrew a small notebook, its black cover as familiar as the jacket itself. She had seen Kara scribbling in this very notebook on quiet evenings – “Just some ideas,” Kara would say with a self-effacing smile when Lena curiously peeked. Kara had claimed it was novel notes or freewriting to break her writer’s block. Lena had teased her once that she was terribly secretive about her work for someone who talked so openly about everything else. Kara had blushed and mumbled that it wasn’t ready for anyone’s eyes. Lena had laughed it off at the time.

Now here it was in her hands: Kara’s notebook. By accident or design, Kara had left behind this piece of her masquerade – or truth, depending on how one looked at it. Lena’s heart thumped loud in her ears. Part of her felt guilty at the thought of prying; the other part was desperate to see inside, to maybe glean a piece of Kara’s mind and heart from those guarded pages.

With trembling fingers, Lena opened the notebook to the first page. Kara’s handwriting flowed in dark blue ink – neat, strong strokes with the occasional tell-tale slant of haste. Lena’s eyes roved over the opening lines:

“She was never meant to be part of the story. The agent was to remain a footnote, a nameless guardian in the shadows. But the more time I spent with her, the more I realized how impossible that was. How impossible   she   was – in the best way. I’ve seen war and death and sorrow. I carry ghosts on my back. I never thought I could feel… light, not again, not after everything. Then I met her.”

Lena’s breath caught. Though written in first person, it didn’t take much to understand: the agent – Kara – speaking about someone. Her. There was no name, but Lena felt it. These were Kara’s thoughts laid bare, thinly disguised as prose.

She turned a few pages, finding another passage, dated about three weeks ago, near when Kara had first truly ingrained herself into Lena’s daily life:

“Each day, it gets harder to remember I’m lying. I laugh with her and it feels real. I listen to her talk about her dreams, her fears, and I want so badly to tell her I’ll protect them, protect her, but I can’t say it outright. Not without revealing what I am. She looks at me with such trust in her eyes and it burns. I don’t deserve it. God, if she ever finds out… No. I can’t let that happen. I have to finish this mission before the truth breaks both of us. ”

A tear splashed onto the page, blurring the ink slightly. Lena hadn’t realised she was crying. She hastily wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and carefully turned to a later page, drawn by the hint of her own initial in one corner. There, likely written just days before the kidnapping, was a passage that made Lena’s hands tremble:

“L is safe in her bed tonight, and I’m watching over her in silence as I write this – just like I’ve done every night for a week from the rooftop across the street. She doesn’t know that a block away, I stopped a man from planting an IED under her car. She doesn’t know I chased a sniper off an adjacent building hours ago. She knows nothing of the shadows closing in around her, and that’s how it should be, how it must be. She told me about her mother’s piano tonight. She smiled at me like I was the one who hung the stars, and all I could think was how unworthy I am of that smile. I never wanted to be the story. But she made me want to be the ending. ”

Lena drew a sharp, shaky breath. “I never wanted to be the story. But she made me want to be the ending.” The notebook trembled in her grasp as she read that line again, and again. Kara’s words – poetic, unmistakably heartfelt – pierced straight through Lena’s armor. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, but it escaped anyway, a soft broken sound in the empty living room.

Kara had written about her. Not just about protecting her, but about loving her, if Lena dared use that word. It was all there: the guilt, the devotion, the longing. Kara had been wrestling with her duty and her heart on these pages in secret, pouring out feelings she hadn’t been able to express aloud. Lena felt like she was reading a love letter never meant for her eyes.

“If I tell her the truth – I have to be true about everything and I don’t think she can handle my ghosts and scars. Even if she could, she shouldn’t have to. I can’t put this on someone else.”

Tears blurred her vision as she skimmed further through the notebook. Fragment after fragment leapt out: Kara describing the first time Lena fell asleep on her shoulder during a late-night movie and how Kara stayed awake just to savour the trust implicit in that. Kara recounting in wrenching words the night Lena had too much wine and confessed how afraid she was of ending up alone – and how Kara had barely resisted the urge to hold her tight and promise she’d never be alone again. Kara even wrote of her own nightmares: “I dreamt of Berlin again. Woke up in a cold sweat on her couch. She didn’t wake, thank god. I never told her about the blood on my hands from that mission. I won’t. She sees me as good – I want to live up to that so badly.”

Berlin – so it was a mission, a bloody one by Kara’s account. Kara had shouldered so much darkness. And yet, with Lena, she’d tried to be someone better, someone brighter. Not for the mission’s sake, but because she wanted to be that person for Lena. Lena’s shoulders shook as she closed the notebook, hugging it to her chest like something precious. This slim booklet of confessions had seared away any remaining doubts about Kara’s feelings. Kara had loved her – loves her, if these words held any truth – deeply and with torment.

“I never wanted to be the story. But she made me want to be the ending.” Lena whispered the line to herself, tears drying on her cheeks. She understood now: Kara had never intended to become important in the narrative of Lena’s life; she was meant to be a background protector. But their connection grew until Kara wanted to be more – to be with Lena at the story’s end, to share a life, perhaps. That admission, scribbled in secret, was more intimate and painful than any apology Kara could have given face-to-face.

Lena felt a swell of confusion and longing all at once. Anger and betrayal still lurked – the notebook didn’t erase the hurt of the lies – but it undercut the simple narrative of Kara as liar and manipulator. Kara’s deception hadn’t been cold and calculated; it had cost Kara pieces of herself, too, every single day. She had been dying under the weight of it, and still she stayed, because she cared. Because she loved.

Fresh resolve slowly welled within Lena. She carefully set the notebook down. Her world had been upended, yes. Her trust had been shattered. But now she had in her possession a piece of the truth she so desperately sought: Kara’s unfiltered heart. And that heart, flawed and failing though it was, beat for her.

Lena inhaled deeply and let it out in a shaky sigh. She wasn’t ready to forgive Kara – not yet. Forgiveness was a bridge she couldn’t cross while the wound was so raw. But for the first time, she allowed herself to miss Kara without immediately quashing it with anger. She missed Kara’s laugh in her flat, her clumsy attempts at cooking, her insightful remarks during documentaries, even the way her nose scrunched when Lena teased her about something trivial. Those things had been real. Kara’s love had been real, even if her identity was not.

Gently, Lena wrapped the jacket around herself and sank down onto the sofa. It was far too large, the sleeves dangling past her fingers. How often had Kara teased Lena for borrowing her clothes, draping her own coats around Lena when she was cold? Lena closed her eyes, drinking in the lingering scent, and allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability. Here, alone, she could admit the truth: She wanted Kara back. Wanted to yell at her and hit her shoulder and demand answers – yes – but also wanted to see those earnest blue eyes and know, with certainty now, that the love she’d seen there was not a lie.

A quiet sob hitched in Lena’s chest, but she swiped at her eyes roughly. Enough. She had indulged her heart for these few minutes; now she had to steady it again. Kara was gone, off hunting a monster. Lena couldn’t chase that phantom right now, not when there was so much still unresolved between them. But she could ensure that when they did meet again – and Lena knew with a calm certainty that they would – she would be armed with truth and ready to face her on equal footing.

Her gaze fell on her laptop and the closed DEO folder. There was work to do. An existential threat to confront. If Edge thought he could break her, he was gravely mistaken. Lena Luthor was not so easily shattered. Yes, Kara had broken her trust, but Morgan Edge had tried to break her entire life. One of those wounds took precedence now.

Lena stood and shrugged off Kara’s jacket, folding it reverently and placing the notebook atop it on the coffee table. A relic and a revelation, both would remain close – a reminder of what was true and what was at stake. She drew herself up, squared her shoulders. The guarded control she’d begun the day with was tempered now by knowledge and purpose. She wasn’t alone. Jack, Sam, Lucy – even Kara in her absent way – all cared for her and were fighting with or for her. Lena would harness all of it.

She moved to her laptop once more and reopened it. The screen glowed to life. Before diving back into the intel, Lena clicked open a blank document. For a moment, her fingers hovered over the keys. Then she began to type, a list forming of avenues to explore: potential Edge informants inside L-Corp, weaknesses in Edge’s corporate web, political allies who might quietly support her. Actionable plans, rooted in fact and logic – these were things she could hold on to.

As she wrote, her mind sharpened. The threat against her was not just a personal vendetta; it was a fight over the future. If Edge silenced her, innovation that could help heal the planet would be stalled. More lives would be lost to climate catastrophes, more progress undone by greed. Lena refused to let that happen. This was bigger than her or her heartbreak. It always had been. Perhaps she had needed to break to see it clearly: this wasn’t solely about Lena Luthor versus Morgan Edge, or even Kara versus Edge – it was a battle of ideals, of hope against exploitation.

Lena’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she composed an email to her head of R&D, requesting an immediate security audit of all labs – a neutral excuse to sniff out any Edge-planted surveillance devices or moles. She caught herself using phrases like “top priority” and “utmost discretion,” which a day ago she might have avoided to prevent panic. Not now. Fear of ruffling feathers had nearly cost her everything. If her team needed to know their work was under threat, so be it. She would root out Edge’s influence wherever it lurked.

As she hit send, a quiet determination settled in her bones. There was a long road ahead. She’d be forced to confront dangers, lies, and feelings she wasn’t sure how to handle. But she was choosing that road, on her own terms. Kara’s departure and revelations had knocked her down, yes, but Lena was standing up again, piece by piece.

Her eyes drifted to the jacket on the couch one last time. Kara’s words in the notebook echoed in her mind, soft and sincere: She made me want to be the ending. Lena’s throat constricted, but she allowed herself a small, hopeful exhale. Their story was far from over. It was messy and painful and unfinished – clean breaks be damned.

“Alright, Kara,” she whispered into the sunlit silence, as if Kara could somehow hear the promise in her voice. “You want to be the ending? Then we’ll see where this story goes.”

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was a beginning – of understanding, of taking control, of writing her own fate. Lena would hunt down the truth, both in the world and in her heart, and when the time came, she and Kara would face each other again with everything laid bare. Only then could they see what remained between them.

Lena straightened her spine and returned to her laptop, determination etched in every line of her body. Clean breaks weren’t clean – not when two lives had become so tangled. The break between her and Kara was jagged and painful, but perhaps through those jagged edges, something new and stronger could eventually form. For now, she would fight on, guided by both intellect and the quiet flame of love that refused to be extinguished.

Whatever came next – Morgan Edge, conspiracies, or the eventual confrontation with Kara – Lena would be ready. Her heart might be cracked, but it was not broken beyond repair, and her will was stronger than ever. The truth was waiting to be unearthed, and Lena would uncover it all, one piece at a time, until the path forward was clear.

And when that day came, when Morgan Edge was defeated and the dust settled, then – then – Lena would decide whether the ending of this story was one she and Kara could write together after all.

Chapter Text

Lena sat alone in the hushed glow of her office monitors, long after midnight, with only the whir of a hard drive for company. On the screen, lines of code and confidential reports scrolled in a slow, silent parade. Threat assessment profiles, financial transfers, known aliases – every scrap of data the DEO had on Morgan Edge and his hired operatives was laid out before her. It was a mosaic of malice, and she was determined to see the full picture.

A half-empty mug of tea sat forgotten at her elbow, its contents long gone cold. Lena rubbed at her eyes and forced herself to focus. This was her second night poring over the intel Lucy had left – her second night glimpsing the enemy through Kara’s eyes. Kara had assembled much of this intelligence, Lena realized, connecting dots in the shadows while pretending to be nothing more than an aspiring novelist by Lena’s side. Lena’s chest tightened at the thought, but she pushed it aside. There would be time later to sort through the emotions that still cut her raw; for now, she had work to do.

She paused at a mention of a “safe house” in one of the intercepted mercenary communications. The brief snippet indicated a fallback location: Shardbridge Depot. It sounded like an old industrial site, possibly a warehouse or storage facility Edge’s people had used. Leaning forward, Lena cross-referenced the name with property records. Within moments, she found it – an abandoned shipping warehouse on the outskirts of London, ostensibly owned by a defunct logistics company that conveniently traced back to one of Edge’s shell corporations.

Her heart thumped. This could be something. If the mercenaries who attacked her lab regrouped anywhere, it might be there. The DEO likely had this lead as well, but Lucy’s parting words rang in Lena’s mind: watch your back. She couldn’t be sure how quickly the agency would move, or if Edge had already covered his tracks. And Kara… Kara was out there somewhere hunting Edge on her own timetable, unreachable and alone.

At the thought of Kara, Lena’s eyes drifted to the slim black burner phone resting on her desk – the one Lucy had returned to her. It remained inert, a useless artifact of Kara’s secret life. Lena had resisted the urge to hurl it against the wall more than once. Instead, she left it there as a reminder of decisions made without her, of truths withheld. Kara’s absence was a tangible weight in the room, even now. Lena straightened her shoulders. She would not be paralyzed by that loss. Not when real lives – countless futures – hung in the balance.

She closed out the files and rose, shrugging on her coat. A mirror by the door caught a sliver of her reflection: sharp green eyes underscored by exhaustion, jaw set with grim intent. There was no sign of the broken woman who had wept into an empty jacket the day before. In her place stood the CEO who had built a tech empire from nothing, the scientist who defied naysayers – a woman with purpose burning in her veins.

“Jess,” Lena called softly as she stepped into the outer office. It was late, but her assistant had insisted on staying in the adjoining lounge until Lena was ready to leave. In seconds, Jess appeared, smoothing her blazer and blinking away the drowsiness from her eyes. “Yes, Dr. Luthor?”

“You can head home. I’ll be leaving shortly myself,” Lena said, offering a small, reassuring smile. She preferred Jess safely away if she was about to do what she planned.

Jess hesitated, eyes flitting to the still-lit computer screens inside. “Are you sure you don’t need me to stay? It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure.” Lena kept her tone gentle but firm. “Get some rest. And thank you, for everything.”

Jess gave a tight nod, clearly reluctant. “Call if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on.”

“I will,” Lena lied kindly. As Jess collected her purse and left, Lena waited, listening for the ding of the private elevator that signaled her assistant’s departure. When it came, she moved back into her office with brisk purpose. Time to set her plan into motion.

From a locked drawer in her desk, Lena withdrew a small black case. Inside lay a compact handgun – a last-resort gift from Sam, pressed into her hand earlier that day with a fierce look and a “just in case.” Lena checked the chamber and safety with steady hands. She hoped not to use it, but the familiar weight was a cold comfort. Next, she pulled out her phone and tapped out a message to Sam and Jack in their group chat: Working late at the office. Don’t wait up. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t false either. And it would keep them from worrying for a few hours.

Minutes later, Lena stepped into the night. London’s streets were nearly deserted at this hour, the city wrapped in winter’s chill and a mantle of quiet. Her breath puffed white as she crossed to her car – a low-profile black sedan she often chose when she wanted to avoid paparazzi or prying eyes. Tonight, it would serve a different sort of secrecy.

As the engine purred to life, Lena pulled up a map on the console display. Shardbridge Depot was a forty-minute drive if traffic cooperated – likely less, with the roads so empty. She allowed herself one brief moment of doubt, fingers tightening on the wheel. Was this foolish? Perhaps. But waiting patiently under guard had never been an option that sat well with her, not when action could be taken. Kara had embedded herself in Lena’s life to protect her; now Lena would step into a shadow of that role herself – to protect her work, her people, and maybe even Kara in the process. The thought of Kara alone, possibly hurt or in danger, gnawed at her resolve. Focus. She forced her attention back to the present. She couldn’t help Kara if she didn’t first understand what they were truly up against.

The city lights thinned as Lena drove north toward the industrial outskirts. Warehouses and loading yards loomed in dark silhouettes against the amber glow of distant street lamps. She passed a chain of rail yards and then a stretch of derelict factories, their windows dark hollows. Shardbridge Depot lay at the end of a deserted road flanked by skeletal trees. Lena killed her headlights as she approached, coasting the last hundred meters under the cover of darkness.

She parked in the shadow of an old storage container and cut the engine. The sudden silence rang in her ears. Ahead, through the thin veil of fog that clung to the ground, she could make out the warehouse: a long, low structure with corrugated metal siding, rusted and graffiti-marked. There were no obvious lights, but a faint glow pulsed intermittently from high windows – perhaps an emergency exit sign still drawing power, or maybe something more.

Lena slipped out of the car, pulling her coat tighter against the cold. She tucked the handgun into her coat pocket, heart thumping not from fear, but from the adrenaline of purpose. The night air smelled of rain-soaked concrete and distant diesel. Somewhere in the dark, a drip of water echoed against metal, a slow and steady beat.

Staying close to the line of containers, Lena made her way toward the side of the depot. Every crunch of gravel under her boots sounded alarmingly loud. She paused at a broken chain-link fence surrounding the property, assessing. A section had already been pried up at the bottom – recent, from the gleam of freshly bent metal. Someone had come through here, maybe not long ago.

She crouched and slipped beneath the jagged wire. Up close, the warehouse loomed larger. One of the sliding bay doors was cracked open just enough to suggest entry. Lena’s pulse quickened. Taking a steadying breath, she crept forward and peered through the gap.

The interior was vast and shadowy. Rows of wooden pallets and cardboard boxes created aisles like an improvised maze. The intermittent glow she’d seen came from a flickering work light hung on a post in the far corner, casting just enough illumination to transform piles of crates into looming shapes. Lena strained her ears. At first, nothing – just the whistle of wind through the rafters. But then, faintly, the scrape of a shoe against concrete.

Someone was inside.

Lena’s grip tightened around the phone in her hand. She had considered calling Lucy for backup on the drive over, but pride and the desire to prove something – perhaps to herself – had stopped her. Now, confronted with the reality of a potentially armed intruder, she questioned that decision. Still, it was too late to turn back. If this was one of Edge’s men, catching him in the act could be invaluable.

Moving with deliberate slowness, Lena edged inside and pressed herself against the wall, allowing her eyes to adjust. Two voices emerged from the darkness, low and urgent, toward the back of the warehouse. She could make out the rough timbre of men speaking in hushed tones.

“...saying she got away?” one voice snapped, Irish accent cutting through the quiet.

“Boss didn’t exactly deign to explain himself to me,” retorted another voice – American, harried. “Just said the asset slipped out of our hands and to clear out everything here. He’s covering tracks.”

Lena held her breath. They were talking about her – the asset. She bit down a flare of anger at the term. Focus. This was a chance to learn something useful.

The Irish voice cursed under his breath. “Bloody waste. Months of plannin’, and we’re back to zero.”

“Not zero,” the American muttered. “We rattled her, at least. Edge thinks she’s bound to slip up or lay low. Either way buys him time.”

“Time for what? We torched her lab, grabbed her, and still came up empty. If Danvers hadn’t shown up—”

A harsh bark of laughter interrupted him. “Danvers.” He spat out the name. “Edge didn’t see that coming, did he? Our insider tip about her being alone at the lab was solid – but none of us expected a damned commando Barbie to crash through the ceiling.”

Lena’s stomach churned. Insider tip. So there was a mole feeding them her whereabouts. Perhaps someone within L-Corp, or even the DEO – though the former was more likely, given how closely Edge had been monitoring her.

The Irish man growled, “That blonde nearly took my head off. She’s not with MI5 or the cops, that’s for sure. Who the hell is she?”

The other man answered, voice tight, “Someone you don’t want on your tail. Trust me. I saw her eyes – thought she was gonna kill us all.”

Silence fell for a moment. Lena inched forward along the wall, careful to stay behind a stack of crates. Her mind raced. Should she retreat and call this in? Or continue listening, risking discovery? The men sounded on edge (no pun intended, she thought darkly). If they were packing up evidence, this might be her only chance to glean anything useful.

Her foot nudged a small shard of glass. The quiet tick as it skittered across the floor might as well have been a gunshot in the stillness. Lena froze.

“Oi, did ya hear that?” the Irish voice called, alarmed.

Heart in her throat, Lena ducked behind the nearest pallet stack and drew her pistol, flicking the safety off as silently as she could. She wasn’t a markswoman by any stretch, but Sam had marched her to a gun range enough times to make her basically competent. She prayed she wouldn’t have to prove it.

Footsteps approached, cautious and deliberate. Lena pressed her back to the wood of the pallet, holding the gun close. In the dim light, she saw the outline of a man rounding the corner. Tall, burly. A rifle in his hands.

Every muscle in Lena’s body tensed. The man stepped closer, scanning the shadows. She could see the outline of a thick beard, the glint of mean eyes darting her way. Another half-step and he’d be on top of her.

A crash echoed from the other side of the depot – metal on concrete, loud and sudden. The man spun at the commotion. “What the—?”

Taking the opportunity, Lena moved. She brought her pistol up with both hands, stepping out from cover to jab the barrel hard into the small of the man’s back before he could whirl around. “Don’t move,” she said, low and fierce. To her own astonishment, her voice held steady.

He froze. “Easy now...” he growled, anger and a thread of fear in his tone.

From the darkness at the far end came a string of curses – the American voice. The crash must have been him knocking something over. “Finn? You okay?”

Lena’s captive – Finn, presumably – let out a strained breath. “We’ve got company,” he shouted back.

Damn. Lena pressed the gun harder against him to remind him of his immediate predicament. Her mind raced for a plan. She had one man at gunpoint, but the other was armed and alerted.

From the corner of her eye, Lena saw movement. The second man was advancing down an adjacent aisle between pallet stacks, trying to flank her. If she didn’t act—

Finn suddenly drove his elbow back into Lena’s arm. Pain jolted up to her shoulder as her gun arm was knocked wide. He twisted, surprisingly quick for his bulk, and grabbed for her.

Lena didn’t think – her body reacted on training and adrenaline. She ducked under his grasp and swung the butt of her pistol at his face. It connected with a dull crunch against his cheek, sending him reeling with a howl.

“Bitch!” he snarled, clutching his face. Blood welled between his fingers.

A shot rang out, sharp and deafening in the warehouse. Lena flinched as a bullet tore into the crate beside her, splintering wood. The other man had fired blindly in her direction from cover.

Eyes burning from adrenaline, Lena dropped to a crouch and scrambled between pallets, trying to present as small a target as possible. Her heart hammered wildly. Another gunshot cracked through the air, ricocheting off a metal support beam. The mercenaries were shouting to each other, but her pulse roared too loudly in her ears to make out the words.

She needed an out – now. Her gaze darted around, and she spotted a narrow side door maybe twenty meters ahead, illuminated by the feeble glow of the exit sign. If she could reach it, she might lose them in the dark outside.

Clenching her jaw, Lena began creeping toward the door, keeping low. Finn’s heavy footsteps pounded somewhere behind her, accompanied by colorful threats. He was enraged but likely disoriented by pain; she hoped that gave her a slim advantage.

Ten meters to the door. Five. Almost—

Suddenly, a figure lunged into her path from the shadows. It was the second man – lean, eyes wild – raising a handgun at her. He must have circled around a different row. There was no cover this time, nowhere to hide. Lena’s stomach dropped as she swung her pistol up in a desperate bid to deter him, but she knew she was too slow.

A split-second thunderclap shook the air. Lena braced for pain – but the man in front of her stumbled instead. Confusion flickered across his face as a dark bloom spread on his sleeve; his gun clattered to the floor. Before he could react further, a shadow moved at Lena’s flank with lethal grace. The butt of a rifle slammed into the side of the mercenary’s head. He crumpled to the concrete like a puppet with cut strings.

Lena’s breath caught. The person now standing over the unconscious man was not a burly Irishman – he still shouted curses somewhere behind – but a new arrival entirely. The dim light caught the outline of a familiar figure, tall and solid, a rifle braced in her arms.

Kara.

For a moment, Lena wondered if stress and fatigue had conspired to conjure a phantom. But then Kara looked at her, those unmistakable blue eyes finding Lena’s in the dark, wide with alarm and something that looked like fear. She was real. And she was here.

“Lena,” Kara breathed, her voice low and urgent. “What—”

Before Kara could finish, a roar echoed from across the warehouse. Finn, upon hearing the commotion, barreled into view wielding his rifle. “Who the hell—?” he started, then recognition hit. “You!”

He swung the muzzle toward Kara, finger on the trigger.

Lena’s body reacted faster than her mind. “Kara, down!” she cried, simultaneously raising her own gun at the Irishman. Kara dove aside just as Finn opened fire. The cracking burst of automatic gunfire split the night. Bullets strafed the concrete where Kara had stood an instant before, sparks spitting.

Lena squeezed off two shots in return, aiming center mass like her training taught. Finn grunted – one of her bullets must have found flesh – but he was still standing. He turned his weapon on Lena now, fury contorting his bloodied face.

Kara’s rifle spoke before he could pull the trigger. A short, controlled burst. Finn jerked back, then toppled, his rifle clattering from slack hands. He hit the floor with a heavy thud and did not move again.

Silence crashed down in the wake of gunfire, broken only by Lena’s ragged breathing. She stared at the fallen man, heart in her throat. Had she just…? But it was Kara’s shot that had ended it. In the faint light, Lena could see Finn’s chest rising and falling – alive, then. Unconscious or wounded, but alive.

Kara was already moving, kicking the enemy’s rifles away and checking for pulses with quick efficiency. She bound their wrists with zip ties she produced from some pocket. Ever the prepared operative. The sight of Kara in action – authoritative, precise, and bristling with quiet danger – struck Lena speechless. It was so different and yet exactly the same as seeing Kara move in her lab during the rescue, when her world had come crashing down. That memory flashed through Lena’s mind: Kara, a gun in hand, standing between Lena and danger with deadly competence. A woman transformed from the gentle writer Lena thought she knew – or rather, revealed as who she truly was.

Kara finished securing the mercenaries and finally turned to Lena. In the semidarkness, Kara’s face was drawn, eyes searching Lena’s form for injuries. “Are you hurt?” she asked, voice taut with concern.

Lena found her voice, though it emerged more shakily than she liked. “I’m fine.” The truth: aside from a bruised arm and a torrent of adrenaline, she was unharmed. Physically, at least. She rose to her feet fully, holstering her pistol with hands that now had the luxury of trembling. She hoped Kara didn’t notice.

Kara stepped closer, her features resolving in the gloom. She wore dark tactical gear – a charcoal jacket, black cargo pants – but no DEO insignia, of course. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, a few strands stuck to her sweat-damped temples. There was a faint redness on her cheekbone; a fresh bruise, perhaps. She looked a little thinner, a little more haunted, than the last time Lena had seen her up close. That was only days ago, but it felt like an eternity.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” Kara’s whisper was harsh, but underlying it was a tremor of something like fear. “This place could have been crawling with hostiles. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

An unexpected flare of anger ignited in Lena’s chest at the reprimand. After everything – everything – Kara was scolding her like she was the reckless one. Lena stepped back, putting a deliberate distance between them. The air between her and Kara thrummed with tension, heavy with words unsaid.

“I might ask you the same question,” Lena replied coolly, keeping her voice low. “Though I suspect I know the answer. Running off on a one-woman crusade? Quitting the DEO to play vigilante?” She arched an eyebrow, though her heart was hammering. “Very on brand.”

Kara recoiled as if struck, a flash of hurt crossing her face, visible even in the dimness. She glanced away, jaw clenching. “I didn’t have time to argue jurisdiction,” she muttered, defensive. Her gaze flickered over Lena again, making sure she truly was uninjured. Satisfied, Kara added tightly, “How did you even find this place?”

“I did my homework,” Lena said. The words came out sharp. She was acutely aware of the two unconscious mercenaries mere yards away – they needed to leave before more of Edge’s cronies arrived or the police were alerted by the gunfire. But the question hanging between them was too insistent to ignore: Why are you here? It carried a weight far beyond tonight’s encounter.

Kara seemed to sense it too. She opened her mouth, then closed it, torn. Finally, she shook her head as if to clear it. “We shouldn’t talk here. There might be others on the way.”

For once, they were in complete agreement. Lena swallowed, nodding. “My car is just up the road.”

“I have a Jeep nearby,” Kara said. She hesitated. “But since they likely heard those shots, it’s best we don’t stay at the scene.” Kara stepped closer to the door Lena had been aiming for. She peeked out cautiously, then waved Lena to follow. “Come on.”

Lena followed Kara out into the night. Cool air washed over her, the outside world feeling strangely dissonant after the claustrophobic danger of the warehouse. The fog had lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of moon that painted the empty lot in pale silver.

Kara led the way with her rifle still in hand. She moved like a prowling cat, every sense on high alert. Lena kept pace as best she could, half jogging to match Kara’s brisk strides as they skirted around the building. The two women kept silent; only their breathing and footfalls marked their passage.

Behind them, in the warehouse, the two men would eventually wake up to find themselves hog-tied among their own abandoned equipment. Lena only regretted that they hadn’t had more time to interrogate them. But then again, she had overheard enough to confirm some of her suspicions about Edge’s plans and his possible mole. It was a start.

They reached the fence, and Kara wordlessly held up the chain-link for Lena to slip under first, then followed, quiet as a ghost. Beyond the fence, a narrow dirt lane extended toward a stand of trees. Parked under their cover, almost invisible with its lights off, was an old olive drab Jeep Wrangler. Lena realized Kara must have cut through the woods to the back of the building while she had come from the front.

At the vehicles, Kara finally paused, turning to face Lena fully. They stood a pace apart, the silence between them suddenly fraught in a way that had nothing to do with danger. Lena could now see Kara’s face more clearly in the moonlight. It took all of Lena’s composure not to reach out – whether to touch Kara’s cheek where that bruise was forming, or to shove her in frustration, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Kara broke the moment first. “Where’s your car?”

“Just down the road.” Lena gestured vaguely behind her, realizing that she had indeed parked not far from Kara’s Jeep. “Near that red shipping container.”

Kara pressed her lips together. “Go wait there. I’ll follow you in my Jeep. It’s safer if we don’t ride together, just in case someone tracks one of us. We’ll head... north, maybe twenty minutes, then pull off. I know a place we can stop and... talk.”

The way Kara said talk sounded like it was the last thing she wanted to do, and yet something she knew had to happen. Lena felt a similar dread and urgency coiled in her own belly.

“Alright,” Lena agreed quietly. She pivoted on her heel and started toward her car, but Kara’s voice halted her.

“Lena.” The sound of her name in that familiar alto, laced with equal parts worry and exasperation, rooted Lena to the spot.

She half-turned, eyebrows raised in question.

Kara struggled for a moment. “Be careful,” was all she finally said, softly. It was almost laughable, coming after the fact – they had just survived bullets and fists, and now Kara was telling her to be careful?

Lena’s mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a bitter smile. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Without waiting for a response, Lena continued on toward her car. Behind her, she heard Kara exhale, a heavy sound that hung in the air, before footsteps retreated to the Jeep.

In minutes, both vehicles were on the road, keeping a cautious distance between them. Lena drove on autopilot, eyes fixed on the taillights of Kara’s Jeep in her rearview mirror. Her mind was racing to catch up with her heart. Kara had been there. If she hadn’t shown up when she did... Lena clenched the steering wheel, unwilling to let that thought finish. It wasn’t the first time Kara had saved her life, but it was the first time since the truth came out. And the fact that Kara had been shadowing Edge’s people at that warehouse indicated she was still operating at full tilt despite going rogue.

Why here, of all places, at the exact same time? Luck? Some might call it fate, but Lena had little use for that romantic notion. More likely, Kara had tracked the same intel lead, perhaps through her own contacts or instincts.

The drive passed in tense silence. Lena’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating hedgerows and closed petrol stations as they left London’s outskirts behind entirely and entered the English countryside. At one point, her phone buzzed in her pocket – probably Sam or Jack replying to her earlier text – but she ignored it.

True to her word, Kara led them roughly twenty minutes north until they were in a rural area with few lights except the occasional farmhouse. Lena recognized none of it, which suited her fine. Finally, Kara’s blinker flashed, and Lena followed as the Jeep turned onto a narrow lane canopied by trees. They drove a little ways further, gravel crunching under tires, and then Kara pulled off into a small clearing where an old stone well stood sentinel. Lena parked beside the Jeep, cutting the engine. The sudden dark and quiet that fell was almost absolute.

She took a steadying breath. The adrenaline from the warehouse was ebbing, leaving behind an electric rawness in her limbs and a pit of dread in her stomach. Part of her wanted to postpone the coming conversation indefinitely. But she knew herself well; the unanswered questions were already clawing at her insides. If she didn’t get answers now – if she didn’t face Kara now – she wasn’t sure she ever would.

When Lena stepped out of the car, Kara was leaning against the side of the Jeep, arms folded tightly across her chest. The rifle was stowed, but Lena didn’t miss the handgun holstered at Kara’s hip or the tension radiating from her taut posture. They were alone in the middle of nowhere – just the two of them under an empty sky. The last time they’d truly been alone together, without the chaos of violence, had been... God, that moment on the rooftop weeks ago, under very different circumstances, when they’d shared a quiet kiss and Lena had thought she might be falling in love with a wonderful, ordinary woman.

Now she knew better – or at least, knew more. Nothing about Kara was ordinary, and yet some part of Lena stubbornly clung to the belief that the woman she adored was still in there, behind all the lies. Perhaps tonight she’d finally learn if that belief was well-founded or just another beautiful fiction.

Kara cleared her throat softly, as if to break the stalemate of silence. “There’s an inn a few miles up. It’s probably closed at this hour, but the car park is empty if we—”

“No,” Lena interrupted, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet grove. “Here is fine.” She didn’t want the false comfort of any public setting, no distractions. If they were going to do this – lay their emotions bare – she preferred the stark honesty of darkness and solitude.

Kara pushed off the Jeep and stepped closer, the gravel crunching under her boots. She stopped a respectful few feet away. Even in near darkness, Lena could make out the anguish in her expression – the furrow in her brow, the downturn of her lips that used to smile so easily in Lena’s presence.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Kara said, barely above a whisper. There was no heat in it now, just pain. “Lena, if something had happened to you back there—”

“But it didn’t,” Lena cut in, hating how brittle her tone sounded. “And something was going to happen to me eventually, if Edge had his way. I refuse to sit on my hands waiting for the next attack.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not your mission to babysit anymore. In fact, I never should have been. I have every right to be in this fight.”

Kara flinched, guilt flashing across her face. “I know. You’re right. I’m not saying you can’t... I just—” She dragged a hand through her hair, voice cracking slightly. “I worry, okay? Seeing you there tonight scared the hell out of me.”

The raw admission took some wind out of Lena’s sails. Of all the things she expected – defensiveness, excuses – simple fear for her safety was somehow disarming. She swallowed and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of the cold night air seeping through her coat.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared,” Lena said quietly. That was as much concession as she’d allow herself. “Edge is still out there, and he’s not finished. I couldn’t just hide away.”

Kara nodded, accepting that. Her eyes drifted away, staring into the dark woods beyond, as if searching for words among the branches. “I followed one of Edge’s couriers to that warehouse. I didn’t expect...” She exhaled shakily. “Did Lucy give you that lead? Or Alex?”

Lena shook her head. “Neither. I deduced it myself from the intel in the files. I told you – I did my homework.”

A ghost of pride seemed to flicker in Kara’s eyes, but it was washed away by regret. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That you have to. That you got dragged into—”

Lena’s temper, held in check by a thread, frayed. “Don’t you dare apologize for me being dragged into this. None of this is my fault. It’s Edge’s, for targeting me. And perhaps it’s Jack’s, for going behind my back. But you, Kara—” her voice trembled, anger and hurt crystallizing, “—you made choices too. You lied to me. Repeatedly. You decided what I should and shouldn’t know, who I should trust, all while standing next to me as I—”

She stopped herself, breathing hard. Tears, hot and unwanted, prickled at her eyes, but she refused to shed them now. Kara’s face had gone ashen in the moonlight, her form seeming to curl inward at Lena’s words.

“I know,” Kara said, each word strained. “You’re right. I did. And I’m so—” She caught herself, grimacing. “No. Sorry isn’t enough. I won’t insult you with it.”

Lena hadn’t expected that. The absence of another apology left a void for the real questions to pour out. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, nails biting her palms through her gloves. The cold, and the leftover adrenaline, made her feel slightly dizzy, but her voice found steel.

“You looked me in the eye,” Lena said hoarsely, “day after day, and lied. You let me—” her voice almost broke, but she hardened it, “—you let me care for you. You made me trust you. Was any of it real?”

The question hung like smoke between them. Kara’s breath visibly caught in her throat. “Every moment with you was real,” she said fiercely, stepping forward instinctively. “Lena, I never faked—”

“Stop.” Lena put up a hand. “You say that. And I’ve read your little notebook, Kara.” She saw Kara’s eyes widen in shock, but she plowed on, voice quavering with emotion. “I know what you felt, what you struggled with. Believe me, I know now.” She inhaled sharply. “But it doesn’t erase the fact that you deceived me. That you would have continued to deceive me indefinitely, if I hadn’t been—” her voice hitched “—if I hadn’t been taken. So tell me the truth now. If I hadn’t been kidnapped and forced to see it for myself… would you ever have told me who you really are?”

Kara stared at her as if struck dumb. She opened her mouth, but no immediate sound came. Her throat worked. “Lena...”

“Tell me,” Lena demanded, stepping forward. Her voice gained strength now, fueled by the agony of that doubt. “I need to hear you say it. If nothing had forced your hand – if I hadn’t been a hair’s breadth from dying at that warehouse – would you have ever told me the truth? Or would you have left me in the dark forever while you played the part of Kara Danvers, aspiring writer, until—” her voice faltered, “—until the mission ended and you vanished? Or until I discovered it some other horrific way?”

Each word lashed out, but beneath them was a plea. She needed to know if Kara had ever intended to choose her of her own volition, truthfully and freely.

Kara’s eyes shone with moisture; tears gathered at the corners, though none fell yet. Her hands flexed at her sides, as if she wanted to reach for Lena but didn’t dare. She looked terrified – of Lena’s reaction, of her own answer.

“I wanted to tell you,” Kara began, voice trembling. “So many times I nearly did. You have to believe me.”

“That’s not an answer,” Lena said, cold and quiet. Her heart was in her throat, pounding. “Nearly did is not the same as did. You didn’t tell me, Kara. I had to find out by watching you fight for your life.” The image of Kara that night – fists and feet flying, eyes feral with protective fury – was etched in her mind.

Kara squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if in pain. When she opened them, a tear finally broke free, tracing down her cheek in the moonlight. “I was afraid,” she admitted, voice cracking. “Every day I thought about telling you, and every day I lost my nerve. I told myself... I told myself it was for the mission, that you were safer not knowing.” She laughed, a self-loathing sound. “And maybe at first that was true. But later... later I was just a coward.”

Lena felt something in her chest tighten, hearing Kara call herself that. She didn’t speak, letting the silence force Kara onward.

“I kept making excuses,” Kara continued, each word unsteady. “When I realized I— that my feelings were getting involved, I tried to pull back. I told myself I’d finish the mission quick and get out of your life, that you’d never need to know. But then I fell in—” she stopped, choking slightly on the word. “I fell for you. And it got harder to imagine walking away. Or telling the truth.”

Lena’s eyes burned. “So which was it? Were you planning to walk away, or planning to stay and lie?”

Kara flinched. “I didn’t know. I was completely messed up about it. All I knew was that I didn’t want to hurt you... and I knew I would hurt you if I told you everything.” Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. “I thought maybe I could protect you and keep you, just a little longer, without breaking your trust. It was stupid. Wrong.”

Lena’s anger wavered, buffeted by the palpable anguish rolling off Kara. She realized her nails were digging into her palms again and forced her fists to unclench. Her voice came out softer, though still laced with hurt. “So you would have kept lying, as long as you could?”

Kara’s shoulders sagged. There was the truth – ugly, shameful, and real. “I’m not proud of it... but yes. I might have.” She swiped at her wet cheeks angrily. “I told myself I had it under control. That maybe the threat would end and I’d just... disappear, and you’d never have to know. You’d hate me for leaving without a word, but at least you wouldn’t hate me for this.” She gestured to herself with a bitter twist of her lips, meaning the liar, the pretender she’d been.

Lena felt as if the ground had tilted. Kara was confirming what she’d feared: that given the choice, Kara would have continued the charade rather than face the consequences of truth. It hurt, a deep bruise on her heart. And yet, hearing Kara’s voice quiver, seeing her stand there so wretched and broken, it also stirred a twisted empathy. Kara had loved her – enough to break her own rules, enough to turn her life upside down – but not enough to trust Lena to love the real Kara back. Or perhaps Kara simply hadn’t loved herself enough to believe she deserved Lena.

“That night on the roof,” Lena said softly, recalling one of those near-confessions Kara mentioned. “When I asked you about your nightmares... You almost told me then, didn’t you? You were going to say more.”

Kara’s eyes widened, clearly remembering. She nodded faintly. “I wanted to. You were so kind, so worried about me. I knew I was lying to your face, and I hated myself for it. But I just... I couldn’t. I was too afraid.”

“Afraid of me?” Lena asked, brow knitting. She stepped closer without quite meaning to, their bodies nearly within arm’s reach now.

“Of losing you,” Kara corrected, voice raw. She looked away, blinking hard as if to stem more tears. “You have to understand, Lena – I’ve lost people before. My whole team, in Berlin... I lost everything I thought I was. After that, I promised never to get close on a mission again. But with you—” she sucked in a breath, “—with you it was never just a mission. Not to me. It became my life. You became... everything. And that terrified me.”

A tear rolled down Lena’s face now, but she let it fall unchecked. Kara’s confession felt like being sliced open with a razor made of both truth and regret. It was everything Lena had read in that notebook and more, spoken aloud in the stillness of this lonely road. Kara hadn’t just lied for the mission – she’d lied because she fell in love and didn’t think she had the right to that love.

“So yes,” Kara continued bitterly, “if you hadn’t been taken, maybe I never would have told you. Maybe I would’ve kept pretending, because... the truth is I liked who I was when I was with you. I liked Kara Danvers, lovable nobody, so much better than the broken soldier underneath – a professional deceiver with blood on her hands. And I was afraid that if you knew the real me, you’d see exactly that: a monster, or a liar, or... or someone not worth your time.”

A sob tore through Lena’s chest at those words – a mingling of sorrow and anger and aching empathy. Kara’s voice cracked as she went on, stumbling over her confession. “I didn’t think I deserved you, Lena. Not after everything I’d done. And if I didn’t deserve you, I convinced myself I didn’t owe you the truth. I told myself it was better for you if I kept lying – that it would spare you pain. But really it was to spare me. I was selfish and scared, and I’m so, so sorry.”

She bit down on her lip hard, voice dropping to a whisper. “The truth is I lied to you and I kept lying because I didn’t think you could ever forgive someone like me. I didn’t think I deserved for you to even try. I was going to end the mission and disappear, and that would be that. At least you’d be safe, and maybe one day you’d forget and move on. That’s what I told myself.”

Lena knew the look on her face must indeed be a jumbled mess of emotions, because inside she was a maelstrom. Kara’s words had ripped open her wound and also poured balm on it, a contradiction only they could manage. She was furious at Kara’s choices, yet fiercely sad at Kara’s reasoning. The woman before her – shoulders hunched in shame, tears on her cheeks, weapons at her side forgotten – was nothing like the confident protector who had charmed her way into Lena’s life, nor even the coldly efficient agent Lena had glimpsed on the night of the rescue. This Kara was laid bare, vulnerable in a way Lena had never seen.

It made something ache deep in Lena’s chest. She realized her own tears were flowing freely now, hot tracks down chilled cheeks. When she finally found her voice, it was thick but gentle. “Kara... look at me.”

Kara lifted her head, eyes overflowing and desperate. In two halting steps, Lena closed the distance between them. She raised her hands, then paused, unsure if her touch would even be welcome – unsure if she wanted to offer comfort or deliver another shove. In the end, she settled her palms lightly on Kara’s upper arms. She felt Kara tense, then shudder as a quiet sob escaped her.

“I don’t see a monster,” Lena whispered. “I never saw a monster. I see a woman who tried to do the right thing and lost her way in the process.”

Kara’s face crumpled. “Lena, I—”

“Please, let me finish.” Lena’s voice wavered. “I haven’t forgiven you. I can’t just forget what you did. You hurt me, Kara. You broke my trust into pieces. Do you understand that?”

Kara nodded frantically, tears spilling. “I do. I know. And I’ll do anything – anything – to make it right. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”

A faint, sad smile touched Lena’s lips. “You might just have to. Because I won’t pretend this is okay tomorrow, or the next day.” She drew in a shaky breath. “But I also know you. I’ve known you, Kara, even if I didn’t know everything. And the truth is... I miss you. Even when I’m furious, I miss—” her voice broke, “—my best friend.”

At that, Kara let out a small, anguished sound. “God, Lena...”

Lena gently squeezed Kara’s arms, grounding them both. “I’m still angry,” she continued, her tone firm despite the tears. “And hurt. You’re right, I... I don’t know what to feel when I look at you. I see the woman who saved my life twice now, who risked everything to keep me safe – a woman who clearly loves me, whether she says the word or not. But I also see the woman who shattered my trust. Who made me doubt my own judgment, my own worth.” Her voice caught, but she pushed through. “I trusted you more than I have anyone in years, Kara. And finding out it was all based on a lie... that broke something in me.”

Kara’s face crumpled. She reached up as if she might touch Lena’s cheek, then stopped herself. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. And I hate myself for that.”

Lena closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. “I’m not telling you this to hurt you. I just... need you to understand. What you did – it isn’t something we can just patch up with apologies and promises. It’s going to take time. And work.”

“I understand,” Kara said. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll prove myself a thousand times over if I have to. Just... please give me that chance.”

Lena opened her eyes. The raw sincerity in Kara’s expression was impossible to doubt. “I’m still deciding how much chance to give,” she admitted softly. “But... I haven’t walked away yet, have I?”

A glimmer of cautious hope lit Kara’s eyes. “No. You haven’t.”

Fresh tears welled in Lena’s. She realized she was standing so close now that she could feel Kara’s body heat, could smell the faint scent of sweat and gunpowder on her clothes. Despite everything, despite the hurt, she wanted so badly to collapse against Kara’s chest and let herself be held. But she didn’t. She held herself upright, maintaining that last thin barrier of formality.

“You took away my agency, Kara,” Lena said, tempering her voice to gentle firmness. “You thought you were protecting me, but you never gave me the chance to choose anything for myself: whether I wanted protection, whether I would accept you if I knew the truth... none of it. You decided I wasn’t worth being honest with.”

Kara’s eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. “No. That’s not— I mean, I see why it feels that way. But it wasn’t that I thought you weren’t worth it. I thought I wasn’t.”

Lena nodded. “I understand that now. But can you see how, from where I stand, it felt like you didn’t trust me or respect me enough to be honest? That you thought so little of me that I had to be kept in the dark like a child?”

Kara’s breath hitched. “I never thought little of you. I admired you – I was in awe of you. You’re the bravest, most brilliant person I know. It was me I didn’t trust. My judgment. My worthiness. I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d kick me out of your life. And I told myself I couldn’t handle that.”

The confession hung between them. Gently, Lena released her grip on Kara’s arms. Both of them were shaking. “We can’t change what’s already happened,” Lena said tiredly. “We can only decide what happens next.”

Kara swallowed hard, nodding. “What... what do you want to do?”

Lena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “First, we need to stop Edge. That hasn’t changed. And I can’t do it alone.” She squared her shoulders. “I need help. Specifically, I need your help.”

A flash of surprise crossed Kara’s face. “Mine? After all I—”

“Like I said, this isn’t forgiveness. It’s necessity,” Lena cut in, tone pragmatic now. “Tonight proved that very clearly. I had leads, but I nearly got myself killed acting on them. You have skills and knowledge I don’t. And you clearly aren’t going to sit on the sidelines, either. So whether my heart likes it or not, my head knows I need you on this.”

Kara nodded slowly. “I’m with you. In whatever capacity you’ll have me.”

Lena almost smiled at Kara’s immediate acquiescence. The tables had turned – now Kara was deferring to her. Perhaps that was progress of a sort. “Good. Because as reckless as it was for me to come out here, it was also lucky I did. Now we have two mercenaries gift-wrapped for the DEO, and I overheard a bit of their conversation. There’s a mole somewhere giving Edge information on me. We need to find out who.” Her voice hardened. “Edge thinks he can scare me into hiding. He’s wrong. And I intend to show him just how wrong.”

A spark of admiration lit Kara’s tired eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” she said softly, a ghost of that old playful respect she’d often shown Lena during their early friendship.

Lena huffed lightly, shaking her head at the inadvertent address. But she couldn’t help noticing the way Kara looked at her just then: with pride, with worry, with unwavering care. That pull between them, the thing Lena had been trying to ignore since Kara reappeared, was still there, thrumming under her skin.

She took a half-step back, suddenly aware of how enmeshed they’d become in each other’s space. “We should go somewhere safe. It’s late… or early, rather.” She glanced at the sky, where the barest hint of lighter gray was starting to bleed into the east. Dawn wasn’t far off. “We’ll both think clearer with some rest.”

Kara blinked, almost as if coming out of a trance. “Right. Of course.” She cleared her throat, then gestured toward the Jeep. “My cabin isn’t far. It’s off-grid, secure. We could… regroup there. If that’s okay with you.”

Lena recalled Lucy had mentioned Kara might hole up somewhere to plan. A cabin in the middle of nowhere certainly fit. The idea of stepping into Kara’s chosen isolation made her chest tighten with apprehension and curiosity. “That’s fine,” she replied after a moment. “Lead the way.”

This time, they got into the Jeep together. The silence that settled as Kara started the engine was different from before – not empty, but laden with a fragile understanding. Lena leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes for a second as they pulled back onto the main road. Her body was crashing from the adrenaline, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of her mind. She felt wrung out, emotionally and physically.

Beside her, Kara drove with a careful, measured calm. Every so often, Lena caught Kara casting a sideways glance her way, as if to check that she was really there, that this tenuous truce hadn’t shattered.

Lena almost wanted to reassure her, but she didn’t know what to say. Instead, she shifted slightly, reaching for the seat belt. As she did, her arm throbbed where Finn had struck it. She hissed softly at the pang.

“What is it?” Kara asked, instantly alert.

“It’s nothing,” Lena said, but the lie was pointless now. “The big guy got a hit in. My arm’s bruised, I think.”

Kara’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “When we get to the cabin, I’ll take a look.”

Lena almost protested, but figured there was no harm. “Alright.”

They drove in near silence the rest of the way, wheels crunching over gravel lanes and finally a dirt path that wound uphill through thickening forest. When at last Kara eased the Jeep to a stop, Lena peered out and saw a small cabin crouched in a moonlit clearing. Dark, likely cold and unused in days, but it exuded a quiet, stoic charm. Towering pines encircled it protectively.

Kara shut off the engine. In the sudden quiet, the chirp of crickets and whisper of wind through needles became audible. Lena shivered slightly – up here away from the city, the air was bitingly cold, and her body, drained of adrenaline, was feeling it.

“Come on,” Kara said gently. She exited the Jeep and waited for Lena, hovering as if ready to catch her should she stumble. Lena’s legs were a bit unsteady but held fine.

They walked onto the small porch. Kara fumbled with a key from under a loose stone (some habits die hard, Lena thought) and unlocked the door. The cabin’s interior was pitch black until Kara found a battery lantern and clicked it on, casting a warm yellow glow.

Lena stepped inside and hesitated just past the threshold. The place was modest and rustic – a single main room with a low-beamed ceiling. A simple kitchenette along one wall, a living area with a threadbare couch and an armchair near a stone fireplace. Shelves with a scattering of books and what looked like a radio set. It smelled faintly of woodsmoke and something distinctly Kara – a hint of pine and soap.

For a beat, Kara looked almost nervous, as though presenting this private sanctuary for Lena’s inspection. “It’s not much. But it’s safe,” she said quietly. “No one knows about it except Alex. And Lucy, maybe, if she guessed.”

Lena stepped further in, letting the blanket of quiet wrap around her. Despite its simplicity, or perhaps because of it, the cabin felt unexpectedly safe. Removed from the world and its lies, a pocket of truth in the wilderness. Her eyes roamed to the mantel, where a framed photograph caught the lamplight. It showed Kara with Alex and a woman who had to be their mother, all of them younger, smiling on the shore of a lake. Next to it, a potted succulent leaned toward the window, looking a bit wilted but alive. A folded plaid blanket lay on the couch’s arm, and on the bookshelf, Lena recognized the spine of a Jules Verne novel – The Mysterious Island. It was her own copy, the one she’d lost from her penthouse.

“You... took my book,” Lena said, turning to Kara in surprise, holding back an incredulous laugh.

Kara flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I… borrowed it,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. I saw it at your place and, after that talk we had about Verne, I just… couldn’t resist. It was stupid—”

Lena held up a hand, shaking her head. The absurdity of Kara smuggling out a book hit her, and a puff of real laughter, however brief, escaped Lena’s lips. “Of all the things, Kara.”

Kara managed a lopsided, sheepish smile. “I know.”

Lena ran her fingers along the worn spine of the novel, a rush of fondness and melancholy washing over her. Kara had kept a piece of her here, however small. Fragments of her around, consciously or not. The thought warmed and hurt in equal measure.

“You must be freezing,” Kara said, shifting to more practical matters. She moved to the fireplace and knelt, beginning to arrange kindling. “I’ll get a fire going.”

Within minutes, she had coaxed a flame to life. As the fire crackled and grew, the cabin filled with dancing light and much-needed warmth. Lena hovered nearby, drawn to the heat. She removed her coat and sank into the armchair, exhaustion plucking at her limbs.

They lingered in that gentle quiet for a moment. Kara remained kneeling, as if reluctant to assume any familiarity by taking a seat before Lena invited her. It struck Lena then how roles had reversed – Kara, once so confidently ingratiating, was now cautious, unsure of her place.

“You can sit, you know,” Lena said softly, nodding toward the couch. “You look ready to keel over.”

Kara opened her mouth to argue, but a yawn escaped instead, undermining her. With a tiny shrug of concession, she rose and sank onto the couch. The fire popped, filling the lull in conversation.

Lena pulled the blanket tighter around herself. The adrenaline that had fueled her for hours was utterly gone. In its wake, a bone-deep fatigue settled. And yet her mind still churned with the events and revelations of the night. She gazed into the flames, recalling how dangerously close she’d come to disaster – and how Kara had swooped in once more. Always saving her, even when trust between them was frayed thin.

Kara cleared her throat gently. “There’s only one bed in the other room. You should take it. You need real rest.”

Lena shook her head. “I’m alright here for now.” A ghost of playfulness touched her tone as she added, “Besides, I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed, Supergirl.”

The nickname slipped out before she thought – a light jab that was once an inside joke between them about Kara’s penchant for swooping in. The moment the word hung in the air, Lena’s eyes widened slightly, worried it might hurt more than amuse now.

But to her relief, Kara huffed a soft laugh. “I think that title is a bit generous after everything.”

“Old habits,” Lena murmured. She managed a tiny, tentative smile.

Kara’s answering smile was equally tentative, but real. It eased some of the tightness in Lena’s chest to see it. They fell silent again, but this time the tension had ebbed, leaving a fragile calm.

The fire warmed the small room, casting them in a cocoon of light against the predawn dark. Lena could feel her eyelids growing heavy. She shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Lena,” Kara said quietly after a while, breaking the silence. “You should sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Lena looked over at her. Kara was slouched into the couch, clearly exhausted, yet still offering to stand guard like an ever-vigilant protector. The sight and the sentiment tugged at Lena’s heart.

“I think we’re okay here,” Lena replied gently. “No one’s finding us tonight. Or this morning, rather.”

Kara frowned, ready to argue.

“Get some rest, Kara,” Lena insisted, more firmly. “That’s an order, if you like.”

“Let me get you something for that arm, first.”

Lena eased out of the armchair and knelt to stoke the fire with another log, more to keep herself busy than any real need. Truth be told, she was fighting her own battle against sleep, but a part of her feared what nightmares might come – nightmares of betrayal, of nearly losing Kara for good, or of what Edge still had in store.

Yet as she settled back and allowed her eyes to close, she felt an unexpected sense of peace here. The cabin, isolated and unassuming, made her feel removed from the chaos of her life. And with Kara nearby – no lies, no masks, just Kara – she felt, for this moment, safe.

Safe, despite the unresolved anger. Safe, despite the uncertain road ahead. Because Kara was here, and whatever else was true, Lena knew Kara would die before letting any harm come to her. That thought was both comforting and terrifying, given how little value Kara seemed to place on her own life.

Her gaze drifted to the notebook on the shelf, the one Kara had filled with secret confessions that Lena had read. Those words had laid Kara’s soul bare and, in many ways, had begun to mend something in Lena even before tonight. Kara loved her – in real, messy, human fashion, with all the guilt and yearning that came with it. And Lena... well, Lena still loved Kara too. That was the quiet truth humming beneath all the loud anger. It was why she was here. Why she hadn’t slammed the door on Kara entirely.

Lena leaned her head back and allowed the crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of Kara’s breathing to lull her. She wouldn’t sleep deeply, not yet. But she could rest.

“Clean breaks be damned,” Lena whispered to herself, echoing the thought she’d had earlier in her penthouse. There was nothing clean about what lay between her and Kara. It was jagged and unresolved. But it was not broken beyond repair. Not if they both still wanted to fight for it.

And judging by everything tonight – by Kara’s tears and Lena’s own heart – they did.

As she drifted on the edge of consciousness, barely keeping herself awake waiting for Kara to attend to her arm, Lena allowed herself a tiny seed of hope. Their story was far from over; it had merely entered a new, uncharted chapter. Hard truths had been spoken in the dark, clearing the path for whatever dawn would bring.

Come morning, they would face it – together.

Chapter Text

Lena sat on the edge of the threadbare couch as Kara knelt beside her, gently inspecting the bruise blossoming across her upper arm. The battery lantern’s golden glow cast their shadows long against the cabin’s log walls. In the hush of midnight, every tiny sound felt magnified: the quiet hiss of Lena’s indrawn breath when Kara’s fingertips pressed a tender spot, the soft clink of a first-aid kit being opened at Kara’s feet. Outside, the wind sifted through the pines, a distant hush-hush that only emphasised the silence between them.

“It’s already swelling,” Kara murmured, breaking the quiet. Her voice was low and clinical, but Lena didn’t miss the tremor of concern underneath. Kara reached into the kit for a cold pack. “This might sting a bit.”

Lena nodded, watching as Kara cracked the pack to activate it. “Go on,” she said, offering her arm. She steeled herself, but still flinched at the initial shock of cold against her skin. Kara’s free hand immediately and reflexively curled around Lena’s forearm in a steadying hold—an instinctive comfort. The touch was warm, solid. For a moment, Lena’s throat tightened with memory: how many times had Kara held her like this in the past, steadying her through some small hurt or startled moment? A dozen fleeting touches, back when things were simple and cloaked in lies.

She forced the memories aside and focused on the present. Kara was here now as herself, and the context had irrevocably changed. The tension between them was taut as a wire, but under it ran that quiet undercurrent of familiarity. They worked in tandem without having to ask: Lena holding the cold pack in place, Kara rummaging for an elastic bandage to secure it. In the lamplight, Kara’s face was drawn with concentration; a tiny furrow creased her brow as she wrapped Lena’s arm with practiced efficiency. Hyper-competent as always, ever the capable protector, Lena thought, biting back a wry smile that didn’t reach the surface. Some things hadn’t changed at all.

After a minute, Kara sat back on her heels. “Too tight?” she asked, looking up at Lena. Her blue eyes flickered over Lena’s face, searching for any sign of pain.

Lena flexed her fingers, testing the pressure of the wrap. It was snug, supportive. “It’s fine,” she answered. The sting had lessened to a dull ache under the cold, and in truth the bruise bothered her far less than the knot of conflicted emotion in her chest. “Thank you.”

Kara gave a curt nod and began packing away the kit, busying her hands. “I should have been quicker,” she said quietly, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “He shouldn’t have gotten that hit in on you.”

“Finn,” Lena supplied, equally soft. The name tasted bitter on her tongue—the man who had wrenched her arm behind her back hours ago, in that brief scuffle outside Kara’s hideout. He’d been one of Edge’s thugs, undoubtedly. Lena remembered the cold sneer on his face before Kara intervened. Remembered, too, the vicious satisfaction she’d felt seeing Kara knock him flat moments later. “He’s the one who led the attack on me tonight. One of Edge’s men, I’m sure of it.”

Kara’s jaw tightened; she tore a disinfectant wipe open with more force than necessary. “I recognised him,” she admitted. “Ex-military type. Alex had a file on some of Edge’s hired muscle. I just—” She broke off, shaking her head as if to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t hurt you again.” The quietly spoken promise hung in the air between them.

Lena studied Kara’s face. There it was again, that fierce protectiveness tempered by guilt, written in the downturn of Kara’s mouth and the tight set of her shoulders. Lena’s anger flared for an instant—she wanted to cling to it, to recall that Kara’s protectiveness had been part of an elaborate lie for so long. But the anger was elusive now, slippery. Harder to hold onto after everything that had happened tonight. Kara had risked herself again for Lena’s safety, with no mission directives compelling her this time—just her own choice. And then Kara had looked Lena in the eye, hours earlier in that abandoned petrol station parking lot where Lena finally tracked her down, and confessed in a raw, broken voice: “I never thought I deserved you... so I told myself I didn’t owe you the truth.”

That memory sent a pang through Lena. Kara’s words from their confrontation echoed in her mind, disarming her all over again. She swallowed, suddenly aware that Kara was watching her intently, as if bracing for a rebuke. Lena realised she hadn’t responded to Kara’s vow. She cleared her throat. “I believe you,” she said at last, her tone neutral. “Let’s hope we won’t have to test that promise.” It was the closest she could come to an olive branch just now.

A flash of relief crossed Kara’s face, gone almost as soon as it appeared. She rose to her feet in one fluid motion. “You should get some rest. It’s late.” She busied herself again, disposing of the used wipe and snapping the first-aid kit shut. “I—I can take the couch. The bed in the alcove is made up. It’s not fancy, but the sheets are clean.” Kara spoke briskly, almost briskly enough to hide the uncertainty underneath.

Lena looked over to where Kara nodded: a narrow doorway near the fireplace led to a tiny alcove, barely more than a closet with a single bed. The cabin was so small Lena hadn’t even noticed the sleeping nook at first glance. She opened her mouth, protest on reflex—Kara giving up her bed for her was too much—but Kara held up a hand to forestall her.

“You’re the one with the bruised arm,” Kara insisted, a ghost of a tired smile on her lips. “And I doubt either of us will sleep much, but you should at least be comfortable. Please.”

That please undid Lena’s objection before it even left her tongue. There was a weary earnestness in Kara’s eyes that brooked no argument. “Alright,” Lena acquiesced softly. “Thank you.” She gathered her coat tighter around herself and stood, realising belatedly how drained she was. Her legs threatened to tremble beneath her, the last of her adrenaline long burned away. She was grateful to sit again so soon, even if on the edge of an unfamiliar bed.

A faint smile of acknowledgement from Kara, and then the other woman turned away, giving Lena a modicum of privacy. In the quiet that followed, Lena heard Kara tending to small tasks: the clack of the first-aid kit being returned to a shelf, the soft whoosh of embers as Kara stirred the fireplace to life. Peeling her coat off, Lena noticed her own hands were trembling with exhaustion. She willed them steady and focused on her surroundings instead.

The bed was tucked under a low rafter, piled with an old patchwork quilt. Lena sank onto it gratefully. The mattress was firm, the bedding carrying a faint scent of cedar. She gingerly propped her wrapped arm on a pillow. Through the open door she could see Kara moving about the main room, turning off the lantern and replacing it with a gentler light—a single lamp on the bookshelf near the couch. The cabin fell into even deeper calm. Shadows danced as the nascent fire in the hearth crackled to life, orange tongues reflecting in Kara’s eyes as she crouched to feed it a few more pieces of wood. The scene felt removed from reality, almost eerily peaceful given the charged emotions and danger that had led them here.

Safe. For the first time in days, perhaps weeks, Lena’s panicked sense of impending doom had abated. The cabin felt safe. Removed from the world and its lies, she had thought when she first stepped inside. A pocket of truth in the wilderness. Now, wrapped in a warm quilt that smelled of pine, she finally felt the full weight of her fatigue. Her body cried out for rest even as her mind churned with unanswered questions.

She watched Kara silently. In the soft firelight Kara moved with cat-like quiet: unpinning her hair and running a hand absently through it, retrieving a spare blanket from a chest by the wall, laying it out on the couch. Kara’s movements were efficient, careful—yet Lena caught the slight hesitation in them, the air of distraction. As Kara turned, the lamplight illuminated her face and Lena saw it clearly: the mask Kara had worn all evening was slipping, now that she thought Lena wasn’t watching. There was a raw, unguarded sorrow in Kara’s expression that made Lena’s heart constrict. Kara’s gaze fell on the mantel, to the photograph of her family that Lena had noticed earlier. Kara reached out and straightened the frame with a finger, a gesture of habitual care. Then she simply stood there for a moment, staring at the photo, her shoulders bowed as if under a tremendous weight.

Lena’s chest tightened. She realised she was intruding on a private moment, albeit unintentionally. She looked away to give Kara what privacy she could, staring instead at the quilt’s patchwork squares. But the image remained in her mind: Kara’s bowed head, the slump of those usually proud shoulders. This was a Kara she hadn’t really seen before—not even in the aftermath of the rescue, when everything had been panic and adrenaline. This was Kara alone with her guilt and grief laid bare.

Unfinished grief. The phrase drifted through Lena’s mind unbidden. Yes, that’s what clung to the silence here. Grief for trust broken, for love twisted by lies. It hung between them like smoke, present even if they refused to acknowledge it aloud.

Lena drew a shaky breath and lay back against the thin pillow. She didn’t trust herself to speak without her voice betraying too much. Better to feign sleep, or at least give Kara space. So she closed her eyes and remained still, listening to the soft sounds of Kara settling down on the couch at last. Springs creaked under shifting weight. The fire popped gently. After a few minutes, Kara whispered into the darkness, so quietly Lena almost missed it, “Good night, Lena.”

Lena’s eyes stung unexpectedly. She kept them shut, fighting the urge to respond. Eventually, she heard Kara sigh and then silence.

Outside, an owl hooted among the trees. Lena waited, hearing only the thump of her own pulse in her ears. When she was certain Kara wouldn’t know she was awake, she turned on her side, careful of her arm, and gazed through the open doorway. Kara lay on her back on the couch, one arm draped over her eyes, the other resting on her stomach. The quilt Lena had seen was pulled up to her chest. Lena could just make out the rhythmic rise and fall of it with Kara’s breathing. Was she asleep? Possibly not, but at least resting.

Lena’s mind refused to shut off. Exhaustion tugged at her, but whenever she closed her eyes she saw flashes of the past days: the sterile white of the lab where she’d been taken hostage, the muzzle flash of a gun as Kara fought to save her, the horrible moment she realised the woman she’d given her heart to was a stranger wearing a familiar face. Then Jack’s confession, Lucy’s worried eyes as she handed over the intel on Kara’s whereabouts… and Kara herself, standing in front of her earlier tonight, rain-soaked and tense, pleading not for forgiveness but simply a chance to fix this.

And now here they were. Working together, as Jack had urged her to do. If someone had told Lena a week ago that she’d be voluntarily sharing a remote cabin with Kara Danvers again, she would have laughed in their face. Or more likely, punched them. Yet, beneath the swirl of betrayal and pain, she had to admit there was something right about being by Kara’s side again. Even like this—tense, cautious—some part of Lena felt more hopeful than she had since that awful day of the kidnapping. She wasn’t alone in this fight anymore.

She must have drifted off at some point, because the next she knew, she was blinking awake to early dawn light and the distant aroma of coffee. Lena stirred, wincing at a tug of pain in her arm. The cold pack had gone lukewarm; she carefully slid it off and flexed her elbow. Stiff, but manageable. The cabin was cool, the fire reduced to embers, but someone had draped another blanket over her during the night. Kara’s doing, no doubt. Lena smoothed a hand over the blanket’s worn flannel folds as she sat up. It was an oddly tender gesture from someone maintaining “emotional distance.” Quietly protective, indeed.

A gentle melody wafted through the air, drawing Lena fully awake. She realised what had been tugging at the edge of her consciousness: the sound of a piano, hesitant and delicate. The notes were soft, as if the player were trying not to be heard. Lena pushed the blanket aside and rose, padding silently to the doorway of the alcove.

In the grey morning light seeping through the cabin’s one small window, she saw Kara seated at an old upright piano in the corner, half-hidden last night in the shadows beyond the bookshelf. Kara’s back was to her, golden hair loose around her shoulders, a chunky cardigan pulled over her sleep-rumpled clothes. Lena stood transfixed, watching Kara’s fingers move slowly over the ivory keys. The tune was halting but recognisable—a few bars repeated until the fingering was right, then a progression of chords. Lena’s heart gave a little lurch of recognition: it was Clair de Lune, one of her favourite classical pieces. She had mentioned it once, in passing, months ago on a lazy rainy evening. My mother used to play Debussy when I couldn’t sleep, Lena had confessed that night, as they listened to a recording on Lena’s phonograph. Kara had listened with that gentle half-smile and said she’d never learned piano, but perhaps one day she’d try.

Lena pressed a hand to her mouth now, overwhelmed by the gentle irony. Kara had learned—or was learning—this piece. Here she was, coaxing those familiar notes out of an old piano in a forest cabin, playing it to comfort herself in the dawn. Or perhaps to comfort Lena, not realising Lena was awake to hear it. Each note was quiet, as if Kara feared to disturb her sleeping guest. It was heartbreakingly considerate, and utterly, utterly Kara.

A floorboard creaked softly under Lena’s foot, and Kara’s hands froze on the keys. She half-turned on the bench, surprised blue eyes meeting Lena’s. For a moment neither of them spoke. The music died away, leaving just the hush of morning.

“Sorry,” Kara said, her voice hoarse from sleep and worry. She stood up abruptly, as if caught in something embarrassing. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just—” Her eyes darted anywhere but at Lena. She seemed at a loss, one hand still resting on the piano’s edge.

Lena realised she’d been staring in wonder, and quickly gathered herself. “It’s alright,” she managed. Her voice came out gentler than she expected. “I… didn’t know you played.”

Kara gave a half-shrug, half-nod. A blush tinged her cheeks. “I don’t, really. This old thing was here already. Alex and I used to tinker with it when we were kids on holiday.” She cleared her throat, then admitted, “I’ve been teaching myself a little. There’s not much else to do out here in the evenings.” A pause. “You mentioned that song once. It, um, it made an impression.”

Lena’s heart pulled painfully. That Kara remembered such a small detail—enough to attempt the piece on her own—sent an unwanted warmth blooming through her chest. She stepped fully into the main room, drawing her cardigan around her over her wrinkled blouse. “It sounded lovely,” she said quietly. “Clair de Lune always reminds me of… of easier times.” Safer times, she almost said, but what time had ever truly been safe for either of them?

Kara offered a tentative smile. “You did say it helped you sleep,” she murmured. “Though I doubt I did it justice. It probably kept you awake rather than lulled you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping much anyway,” Lena admitted. She glanced at the small kitchen area where a French press sat on the counter, steaming faintly. “Is that coffee I smell?”

Kara seized the change of subject with visible relief. “Yes. I figured we could both use some. It should be ready.” She moved to the kitchen nook, and Lena followed slowly, arms crossing over herself for warmth. Kara had already set out two mismatched mugs. Without asking, she poured Lena’s first.

Lena watched as Kara added a splash of milk to the mug and exactly one teaspoon of sugar—just as Lena preferred. The gesture was so simple, so domestic, that Lena felt her throat tighten again. How many mornings had Kara done the same in her penthouse, back when Lena thought she was just a dear friend staying over, someone who cared enough to learn how she took her coffee? It was always real, that part, Lena reminded herself, heart clenching. Kara’s kindness was always real, even if her identity was not. Truth and memory blurred in that moment; the line between Kara the liar and Kara the friend grew hazy.

Wordlessly, Kara handed her the mug. Their fingers brushed as Lena took it, and both of them froze for an instant at the contact. A prickle of awareness traveled up Lena’s arm that had nothing to do with her bruise. She searched Kara’s face, found it as open and unguarded as it had been behind her back moments ago at the piano. Kara looked like she wanted to say something—apologise again, perhaps, or ask how Lena had slept—but she held herself back, lips pressing into a thin line. Emotional distance, Lena remembered. They were trying to keep things functional.

“Thank you,” Lena said, cradling the warm mug in both hands. She took a tentative sip; it was brewed strong and hot, just shy of scalding. Perfect. It steadied her nerves. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed this, the simple ritual of a morning coffee made by Kara.

Kara nodded and poured her own cup, leaving it black. She leaned against the counter, a careful few feet of space between them, and blew on the surface of her drink. It struck Lena that they must look almost normal, like two companions starting their day at a leisurely pace in a cabin retreat. The reality—two half-broken women on the run, colluding against a common enemy—was invisible, yet ever-present in the tension of their silence.

“How’s your arm?” Kara asked at length, eyes flicking to the makeshift bandage she had wrapped.

Lena rotated her shoulder gingerly. “Sore, but I’ll live. The cold helped.” She managed a faint smile. “My medic did a good job.”

Kara huffed a soft breath that might have been a muted laugh. “Learned from the best,” she said. “Alex made sure I knew my first aid.” She took a sip of coffee, then added in a quieter tone, “I’m glad it’s not too bad.”

They lapsed into silence again, broken only by the soft clink as Kara set her mug down. The dawn was growing brighter through the window, a pale watery sunlight filtering in. Lena pulled her gaze from Kara and looked around properly now that daylight allowed a clearer view of the cabin. Dust motes danced in the light. The interior was spartan but homey in its way. There were indeed more books on the shelf beside Jules Verne—she recognised a battered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, a field guide to British birds, and a handful of paperback thrillers. A surprise: a thin volume of poetry, Robert Frost’s collected poems, perched atop the others with a bookmark ribbon trailing out. Kara’s? Perhaps something she picked up to bolster her writer persona, or perhaps… perhaps Kara enjoyed poetry for itself. Lena’s gaze drifted to the little dining table under the window. Papers and a notebook lay strewn there amidst an outdated road atlas and a mug half-filled with cold tea from who-knows-when.

Kara followed her eyes and straightened. “Sorry for the mess,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t expecting company.” She stepped past Lena to hurriedly gather the loose papers into a neater pile. Lena caught a glimpse of dense text and diagrams—some kind of schematics or data tables—before Kara’s broad hand swept them up. Kara paused, then glanced at Lena. “Actually, those… you might want to see these. It’s what I’ve been working on.”

Right. The reason they were here—the reason Lena had sought Kara out after all that had happened—wasn’t just emotional. It was practical and deadly serious. Morgan Edge. The name alone made Lena’s spine stiffen. Edge had tried to destroy her, in body and in spirit. He’d nearly succeeded. He was still out there, with resources and a remorseless vendetta. If they didn’t stop him, he would strike again. Lena doubted she would get a third chance if he did.

Kara carefully separated the papers into two sets. One stack she left on the table; the other she slid into a leather folio, which she then tucked into a drawer. Perhaps personal writings or unrelated notes, Lena mused, noting how Kara’s ears reddened slightly as she stowed them away. A pang of curiosity hit Lena—was that Kara’s private notebook? Possibly containing that partially written poem Lucy had teasingly mentioned when handing over Kara’s location? Lena had half-believed Lucy had been exaggerating to reassure her that Kara wasn’t completely cold. But maybe not—Kara certainly looked like she had something to hide in those papers.

Lena turned her attention to the stack Kara had indicated for her to see. “Is this the intel Jack said you’d gathered?” she asked, moving to the table and setting down her coffee.

“Yes,” Kara replied. She joined Lena at the table, though she kept an extra half-step of distance as they stood side by side looking down at the documents. “Some of it is what the DEO managed to find before…” She trailed off, not needing to say “before I left.” Instead she tapped a page with her index finger. “And some are things I’ve dug into these past few days on my own. It’s not comprehensive, but it’s a start. I was trying to piece together Edge’s remaining network—anyone and anything he could use to come at you again.”

Lena’s chest tightened at the notion that Kara had been working on this even while in self-imposed exile. Of course she was. Kara’s mission to protect her hadn’t ended just because her employment did. For all Kara’s despair, she hadn’t truly abandoned Lena, not in the ways that counted.

Wordlessly, Lena picked up the top sheet. It was a printed email exchange, heavily redacted in places. The header identified one party as a known subsidiary of Edge’s conglomerate, Edge Tech International. The other party was listed only by an IP address and a simple moniker: S&K Ventures, Edinburgh.

“S&K Ventures,” Lena read aloud, frowning. The name tickled something in her memory. “I’ve seen that name. Lucy included it in the brief she gave me.” Lucy had forwarded a packet of information before they found Kara—a courtesy of the DEO, perhaps, or Lucy’s own intel gathering. Lena recalled skimming it in the helicopter, though she’d been too anxious at the time to absorb much beyond the basics. “It’s a security consulting firm on paper, but basically a shell company Edge uses, right?”

Kara nodded, impressed. “Right. We discovered they were behind the bugging device in your lab.” At Lena’s sharp look, she added quickly, “We tried to tell you—Alex was going to share it with you after the rescue, I think. But things… you had already left the debrief by then.” Kara grimaced, clearly remembering how Lena had stormed out of DEO custody as soon as she was medically cleared, refusing further conversation. “Anyway. S&K Ventures is one of Edge’s cut-outs. It buys up surveillance tech, weapons, vehicles, anything he needs for off-the-books ops, and provides ‘consultants’ who are really just mercenaries.”

Lena exhaled slowly, scanning the email printout in her hand. It appeared to be a shipping confirmation for a batch of “audio transmitters.” Her stomach turned—those must be the bugs that had infested her life. The correspondence politely confirmed payment received from an offshore account. A familiar account number. “This account,” Lena said, tapping it. “I recognise the prefix. It came up in my own search—registered in the Caymans, in the name of a holding company Edge’s son controls.” She glanced at Kara to see if this was already known.

Kara met her eyes with a spark of admiration. “You found that?” she asked.

Lena managed a tight smile. “I might have done a bit of digging on my flight to find you.” She set the email down and reached for another sheet. “Jack… told me everything. That it was Edge from the start, that you and Alex had suspected as much. I needed to confirm it for myself, so I tapped a few financial databases. Edge’s fingerprints are faint but discernible if you know where to look.” Her smile faded as she thought of the implications. “I confronted Jack with it. He didn’t even try to deny Edge’s involvement. That’s when he gave me Lucy’s contact and the DEO’s preliminary findings.”

She rifled through the stack until she found what she was looking for: a single page report, emblazoned with the DEO letterhead, summarising known elements of the threat. Lena skimmed down to the bullet points near the bottom:

• Suspected Mastermind: Morgan Edge (CEO, Edge Tech Intl) – motive: eliminate L-Corp’s competition; evidence linking via S&K Ventures, offshore funds.
• Operational Assets: Private paramilitary contractors (incl. possible ex-military personnel); surveillance drones; inside contacts unknown.
• Recent Activity: Coordinated kidnapping attempt on Lena Luthor (FAILED – 2 assailants KIA, others escaped), sabotage of L-Corp equipment (PARTIAL SUCCESS – damage to facilities).
• Threat Level: High – subject remains at large with substantial resources.

Lena’s eyes lingered on the phrase others escaped. Finn among them, presumably. She felt a flicker of pride that at least two of those bastards were taken out, though she wondered grimly at what cost.

Kara was watching her read. When Lena looked up, Kara’s expression was taut. “We were so close to preventing the kidnapping,” Kara said, voice hushed with regret. “We knew Edge was involved days before. If I hadn’t misread his diversion tactic—”

“He tricked all of us,” Lena interjected, surprising herself with the gentleness of her tone. She folded the DEO summary and set it aside. “I fell for it too, Kara. I let my guard down when you… when Andrea convinced me to rest.” The code name tasted strange now—“Andrea” had been Kara’s alias. Lena still remembered the exact words Kara had used the night before the kidnapping: Stay home and get some sleep, I’ll keep watch. All lies and yet not lies, all in Kara’s warm voice. Lena swallowed hard. “Edge wanted us looking the other way. And it worked. What matters is he failed to finish what he started. We’re both still here. And now we have a chance to stop him properly.”

Kara’s gaze held Lena’s for a beat, and something in Kara’s posture eased—marginally. Lena realized she had inadvertently said we, lumping herself and Kara together against Edge without thinking. A tacit admission of trust, or at least alliance. It felt natural. It also felt dangerous, at least to the wounded part of her that still guarded her heart. She distracted herself by reaching for another document.

Over the next hour, they fell into a determined, businesslike rhythm. The initial awkwardness melted into focus as they spread papers across the small table and pooled what they knew. Two laptops joined the fray—Kara pulled hers out from a satchel near the couch, and Lena retrieved a tablet from her own handbag. The cabin filled with a quiet symphony of activity: the soft clatter of keys as Kara tapped into secure databases via a satellite link, the rustle of paper as Lena cross-referenced printouts, the occasional murmur as one of them noted a detail and brought it to the other’s attention.

It was a strangely synchronised effort. Lena found that despite everything lying unspoken between them, in this realm of analysis and strategy she and Kara moved in lockstep. Kara would scarcely finish a thought before Lena was responding with a datapoint; Lena would voice a hypothesis and see Kara’s eyes light up in agreement or counter with a sharpening insight. It reminded Lena of late nights in her lab months ago, when Kara—no, Andrea—would perch on a stool ostensibly reading or typing up notes for her “novel” while actually watching over Lena. They had talked then, too, about neutral things: science articles Kara had read to maintain her cover, or mysteries in the news, even idle puzzles. Lena recalled how Kara’s mind had seemed to work so similarly to her own, how they had clicked intellectually as much as emotionally. That connection hadn’t been fake, she realised. This easy collaboration now was proof of it.

“Here, look at this,” Kara said, leaning over the table to show Lena her laptop screen. Her shoulder brushed Lena’s, and both of them pretended not to notice, though a prickle of heat spread across Lena’s cheeks. Kara focused on the screen, oblivious or feigning obliviousness. “This is a transcript of a call intercepted between one of Edge’s executives and an unknown party. It’s from a week before your lab was attacked.”

Lena narrowed her eyes at the transcript. It was filled with coded language. “They talk about delivering the prototype into safekeeping… that must be referring to The Forge, my reactor core. And terminating the trial phase prematurely.” Her stomach twisted. “He wanted my tech destroyed or stolen before we could go public with the next phase.”

Kara nodded grimly. “Edge’s people didn’t get The Forge in the kidnapping attempt thanks to you triggering the lab’s purge protocols. But he won’t stop there. He’ll have backup plans.” She paused. “What about your other prototypes? Or data backups? Could he be targeting those next?”

Lena pursed her lips, thinking. “We distributed a few prototype units for field testing,” she said slowly. “Small-scale reactors in secure locations, mostly to demonstrate viability to partners in remote areas. After the attack, I had all testing paused and assets locked down. But…” She trailed off, a cold dread creeping through her. She set her tablet down. “There’s one site I was most worried about. A larger second-generation reactor we call Project Theta—located in northern Scotland. It’s remote, and only a few of my team know the exact location. We were planning a demonstration for investors in a couple of weeks, to coincide with an energy summit.” Her green eyes met Kara’s, both of them reaching the conclusion at once.

“If Edge knows about Theta,” Kara said, voice taut, “he could aim to sabotage it. A meltdown or explosion at a demonstration would utterly tarnish L-Corp’s safety record. Not to mention put lives in danger.”

Lena’s hand curled into a fist on the table. “He would do that,” she said bitterly. Morgan Edge would absolutely cause an environmental catastrophe just to keep his fossil fuel empire alive. The thought of her revolutionary reactor being twisted into a disaster sent a bolt of anger through her. Anger was easier to feel than heartbreak—Lena clung to it now, directing it squarely at Edge.

“We need confirmation if Theta is on his radar,” Kara said, already typing furiously. “I’ll search for any mentions of it in the data we have.”

While Kara combed digital files, Lena sorted through the printouts Lucy had given her. One was an intelligence brief on Edge himself: known associates, recent business moves, etc. Another was a list of suspicious incidents at clean energy facilities globally—accidents that, in hindsight, bore Edge’s hallmark subtlety. As Lena scanned the list, she felt a chill. A wind farm arson in Argentina. A solar plant’s sabotage in India. A scientist’s unexplained death in Germany. All innovators, all undermined or eliminated. And now her.

Her eyes burned as she looked up from the page. Kara had paused her typing, reading something intently. Lena moved closer without thinking, to see what Kara had found. A line of text on the screen stood out, part of a fragmented log file:

…authorize shipment from S&K depot to TH-eta site…

The rest was garbled. But “TH-eta” practically leapt off the screen. Lena inhaled sharply. “Theta site,” she said. “That’s it. They know about it, Kara.”

Kara blinked, momentarily thrown by the stylised text. “I almost missed that,” she confessed. “The log text is partially corrupted—I thought it said ‘TH-something’.” She turned to Lena, realisation dawning. “Theta, with a capital T and H. Your Project Theta.”

Lena nodded, already grabbing a pen with her good hand to scribble on a notepad. Her mind raced. “They mention a shipment from the S&K depot. Depot… could be a base of operations or a storage site. Possibly where they’ve been stockpiling equipment for an attack on Theta.”

Kara was already opening a map on her laptop. “We have the address in Edinburgh that S&K uses as a front. But a depot might be elsewhere. Perhaps closer to the target for convenience.” She pulled up a list of properties owned or leased by any entity connected to S&K Ventures.

“Let’s see… they lease a warehouse outside Inverness,” Kara muttered, scrolling through results. “And another under a different name in the Orkney Islands. Theta is where exactly?”

Lena tapped the pen anxiously. “In the Highlands, about fifty miles west of Inverness, tucked in a valley near a village called Strathcarron. We chose it for abundant wind and water resources, and its seclusion.”

Kara’s finger hovered over the Inverness entry. “A warehouse in a port town near Inverness… Could be where they’d stage materials to move into the Highlands.” She clicked it. A record came up: S&K Ventures had paid for a six-month lease on a storage facility on the northern outskirts of Inverness, beginning two months ago. It had raised no flags at the time—just one more business renting space.

Lena felt a surge of certainty. “That’s got to be it. They’d need somewhere to assemble or store whatever they plan to use to sabotage the reactor—explosives, or specialized equipment to force a failure.” She looked at Kara, heart pounding. “They might already have everything in place.”

Kara nodded grimly. “Time to target, then. They could be aiming to strike at the demonstration you mentioned, in a couple of weeks… or sooner, if they realise we’re onto them. Edge might not wait if he thinks you’ll cancel after a warning. He’ll go for maximum damage when it’s least expected.”

Lena’s mind was already made up. “We have to go there. To the Theta site, or this depot, preferably before they do anything. Catch them off-guard.” Her voice was steady, resolved. She was no soldier, but she wasn’t about to sit back and let Edge orchestrate another nightmare from afar.

Kara’s eyes flashed with agreement—and concern. “We will,” she said. “But Lena, this could be dangerous. We should call in Alex and the DEO. They can have a team—”

“Not yet,” Lena cut in, meeting Kara’s gaze. “If we call them now, it’ll take time for an official operation to mobilise, even if Alex believes us immediately. And if there’s a leak or Edge gets tipped off—”

Kara frowned. “You think the DEO has a mole?”

“I think Edge has people everywhere,” Lena replied, voice hard. “He had someone slip a bug into my private lab, under our noses. I wouldn’t put it past him to have ears on law enforcement or even on DEO channels. He’s that well-connected.”

Kara hesitated, clearly torn. Lena could tell she was weighing protocol against instinct. The old Kara—the DEO agent who valued her team—would call for backup. But the Kara who had left the DEO, the one who had gone off-grid, might just be willing to do this with minimal support. Especially given how personal this was to her, too.

“We could ask Lucy,” Kara considered aloud. “She was with MI-5; perhaps she could discretely get local support in Scotland without alerting too many.” Even as she said it, though, Kara grimaced. “But then again, Lucy might have to report up channels. Too many variables.”

Lena placed her hand over Kara’s on the table, a bold move that surprised them both. But it effectively stopped Kara’s anxious pacing of ideas. Kara’s hand was tense under Lena’s touch, but she didn’t pull away. Lena felt the faint tremor there and softened her tone. “Kara, listen. We can’t afford to lose momentum. Not after finally uncovering a real lead. If we wait, we might miss our window to catch them unaware.”

Kara looked at their hands, then up at Lena. Her eyes searched Lena’s face. “I don’t want to risk you,” she said, voice cracking slightly on the last word. “Not again. Going in just the two of us… if something happened—”

“Something will happen if we do nothing,” Lena countered. “Edge will make sure of it. At least this way, we have a fighting chance to stop him.” She lifted her chin. “You said you’d get him, remember? That we’d fix this. Well, this is how we start to fix it.”

She realised she was echoing Kara’s own words—the desperate promise Kara had made to herself in that lab, perhaps, and again to Lena later: I will fix this. Whatever lines I have to cross now, I will. The sentiment thrummed between them. Kara’s gaze burned with a fierce light Lena hadn’t seen since the night of the rescue—a focus that was almost frightening in its intensity, yet reassuring too. Hyper-competent, hyper-determined Kara Danvers, ready to do whatever it took.

Kara exhaled slowly, and Lena felt the tension in the hand beneath hers ebb just a little. “Alright,” Kara said at last. “We’ll go. Carefully, though. We scout the depot, see what we find. If it’s too hot or we confirm a major operation, thenwe call in reinforcements. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Lena replied. She released Kara’s hand, only to find Kara’s fingers catching hers for the briefest second as if to say be careful. A warmth spread through Lena’s chest, disproportionate to that tiny contact. She turned away under the guise of gathering the papers. “We should compile what evidence we have so far to bring with us. If we run into any... trouble, it might help to have proof of what they’re doing.”

“Good idea.” Kara stood and started assembling a “go-bag” with practiced efficiency. She moved around the cabin, fetching items: a flashlight, extra ammo for the handgun holstered under her jacket (Lena tried not to think too hard about the necessity of that), a printed map in case GPS failed. As Kara disappeared briefly out the front door to load some gear into the Jeep, Lena made a neat folder of printouts and a flash drive of key digital files. Her mind was clear, focused—she recognised the familiar calm that settled over her whenever she geared up for a high-stakes presentation or a major experiment. Except this time, the stakes were far more visceral.

She glanced around to ensure nothing crucial was left behind. Her eyes landed on the piano, lid still open, sheet music of Clair de Lune propped up in a makeshift manner (Kara had pencilled the notes herself on blank paper, Lena noted with a tiny smile). On the piano’s wooden surface lay a slim notebook, half-hidden under a pencil. It looked well-worn, pages sticking out where scraps had been tucked in. Likely the journal Lucy had mentioned. For a moment, Lena’s curiosity battled her respect for Kara’s privacy. In the end, she left it untouched. There would be time—later—for personal conversations, she hoped. If they earned that future.

Kara returned, a gust of pine-scented air following as the door shut behind her. “It’s a long drive,” she said. “About eight hours to Inverness from here.” She gave Lena an assessing once-over. “We’ll get food on the road. And we should probably both change into something less… conspicuous.” She gestured vaguely at Lena’s attire—creased trousers, yesterday’s blouse—and at her own rumpled clothes from a night on the couch.

Lena realised she hadn’t brought a change of clothes in her haste. “I’ll manage,” she said. “It’s not as if I packed for an expedition when I flew out to drag a stubborn ex-spy out of hiding.” She tried to make it a light tease, and was rewarded by a small, rueful grin from Kara.

“Fair. I have some spare clothes that might fit you, if you don’t mind army surplus fashion,” Kara offered. “They’ll be warmer and more durable than what you’ve got on, up in the Highlands.” She hesitated, then added, “Also… we should do something about your hair.”

“My hair?” Lena raised an eyebrow, then lifted a hand to her signature dark locks, currently still in the somewhat haphazard braid she’d woven last evening. “Oh. You mean to disguise me.” Recognition dawned; Kara was in mission mode now. Lena Luthor’s face was well-known in some circles—if Edge’s people spotted her, everything would be blown.

Kara nodded apologetically. “Just a cap or something. And maybe lose the L-Corp blazer.” Her eyes twinkled with the barest hint of humour. “As lovely as you look in corporate chic, blending in might require a downgrade.”

Lena huffed a soft almost-laugh. The fact that Kara could tease, even gently, lightened the mood. “Fine. I suppose I can slum it in flannel for a day.” She pretended to be put-upon, earning a genuine, if brief, smile from Kara that warmed her more than the coffee had.

In short order, Lena swapped her blouse and blazer for a thermal shirt and olive-green jumper from Kara’s stash, and traded her trousers for a pair of Kara’s spare cargo pants belted tight to stay up. Kara lent her thick socks and sturdy boots that were a tad loose but serviceable once laced tightly. To top it off, Kara produced a knit beanie from a hook by the door and gently tugged it over Lena’s chestnut hair, tucking stray strands up underneath. Their fingers grazed along Lena’s temple during the process, and Lena had to suppress a shiver unrelated to the chill. She couldn’t help but glance up at Kara during that brief intimacy; Kara’s eyes were focused on the task, but her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and she withdrew her hands quickly once the hat was in place.

“All set,” Kara said briskly, stepping back. She had changed as well into field gear: dark jeans, a black turtleneck and a weatherproof jacket. She looked every bit the part of a covert operative, except for the softness in her expression as she regarded Lena. “How’s the arm holding up?”

Lena flexed it. The bandage was hidden under the roomy jumper. “I’ll survive. It’s better, actually. Hardly feel it.” That was a lie; it ached dully, but adrenaline and purpose masked the discomfort.

Kara didn’t press the point. She handed Lena a granola bar and a bottle of water. “Eat something on the way. Doctor’s orders,” she said lightly, then grabbed the keys to the Jeep. As they headed for the door, Kara paused and turned back momentarily. Lena watched as she went to the mantel, watering the little succulent from her water bottle. The plant’s green leaves glistened with droplets in the morning light. Kara adjusted it so it caught the sun better, her face soft with affection for the tiny living thing.

Lena felt her heart twist. This was Kara—tender, conscientious Kara—who even in a rush to go face armed mercenaries would stop to water a wilting plant. And suddenly Lena saw so clearly: this was the woman she’d fallen for. Disguise or no disguise, Kara’s core had shone through in those gentle habits all along. The real Kara had been present in every thoughtful act, in every stolen smile. That truth muddled the tidy boxes of betrayal Lena had tried to erect in her mind. It was harder and harder to stay angry when faced with the obvious goodness that was Kara Danvers.

Kara caught her eye from across the room. She gave a little embarrassed shrug at being caught doting on a plant. “Didn’t want to come back to a dead succulent,” she offered by way of explanation.

Lena mustered a wry smile. “Of course not. I hear neglecting houseplants is a terrible omen for one’s character.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Kara played along, holding the door open for Lena with a mock-serious nod. “I have a reputation to uphold with the flora of the world.” There was a fleeting moment, as Kara locked the cabin behind them, when their eyes met and both nearly laughed at the absurd normalcy of that banter. The levity was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the gravity of what lay ahead, but it left a fragile warmth in its wake.

They climbed into the Jeep, the doors thunking shut. For a second, as Kara inserted the key, an almost comfortable silence enveloped them. It struck Lena that this was the first time since before the kidnapping that she was voluntarily sitting beside Kara in a car, heading into danger, together. It was different now, yes—fraught with unresolved pain—but it was also strangely reminiscent of how it used to be: them against the problem, a team of two.

Kara turned the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. She glanced at Lena, serious once more. “Ready?”

Lena nodded. “Ready.” And she was. Tense, yes; heart heavy with things left unsaid, yes. But ready.

As the Jeep rolled away from the cabin, crunching over the frosty ground, Lena allowed herself one last look back at that little sanctuary among the trees. A pocket of truth in the wilderness, indeed. They would return when this was done—there was so much still to face between them. But for now, that truth, that unfinished business, would remain safely here, waiting.

Lena settled into her seat, cinching the seatbelt tight. The road ahead wound out of the forest and toward distant mountains. Beside her, Kara’s profile was calm, focused on the way forward. Lena found a matching resolve within herself. Morgan Edge’s network had hurt them both, cost them both dearly. Working in tandem, they had just unraveled the first thread of his tapestry of deceit. In the quiet hum of the drive, with the morning light growing stronger by the minute, they steeled themselves for what was to come.

Unfinished trust hung between them, but so did unfinished strength. Together—even if they weren’t fully together—they were going to use that strength to bring Edge down. Lena rested her bandaged arm on her lap and allowed a small breath of determination to escape her lips. Kara heard it and cast a brief sideways glance, offering the hint of a reassuring smile. Lena answered with a resolute nod.

Tense but united, wounded but functional, they drove on towards the north, towards the heart of Edge’s last gambit. Two souls in uneasy harmony, carrying both hurt and hope, ready to face the coming storm side by side.

Chapter Text

Kara stepped into the quiet hotel lobby with Lena just a half-step behind, the two of them moving in tired tandem. It was nearly midnight in Inverness, and the small hotel bore the hush of the late hour – dimmed lights, a lone receptionist yawning behind the desk, the faint scent of lemon polish and old carpet in the air. After the eight-hour drive through winding Highland roads and a tension that neither could quite shake, Kara felt both exhausted and on edge.

They had arrived under cover of darkness, parking the car around back to avoid notice. Kara had insisted on a low-profile place on the outskirts of town: a quaint stone-built inn that looked like it hadn’t changed much in decades. Now, as she signed the register with a pseudonym and paid in cash, her senses remained hyper-alert. A habit, she supposed, that wouldn’t fade – scanning every shadow in the corners of the lobby, every door down the corridor behind reception, every stranger’s face. It was unlikely Edge’s men had tracked them here so quickly, but Kara wasn’t taking chances.

Beside her, Lena stood quiet, arms lightly crossed over her chest. Kara risked a sidelong glance at Lena’s profile as the clerk processed their room key. Soft light from a wall sconce fell across Lena’s face, illuminating the fine-boned elegance of her features and the tiredness in her eyes. They hadn’t spoken much during the drive – a handful of strategy discussions about the warehouse they planned to investigate, and some logistical check-ins – but otherwise, the car had been filled with a pensive silence and late-night radio static. Even now, in the stillness of the lobby, there was a careful quiet between them. Not hostile, no – the hostility had thawed over the past few days of uneasy cooperation – but something fragile remained. An uncertainty, as if neither dared push too hard against the delicate truce forming between them.

The receptionist returned with a gentle smile and a single old-fashioned key on a brass ring. “Room 204. Top of the stairs and to your right,” she whispered courteously, perhaps noting their fatigue. “Breakfast is from seven to ten, if you’d like. Do you need help with any bags?”

Kara managed a polite smile and shook her head. The only bag she had was the rucksack slung over her shoulder – containing her laptop, a first aid kit, a change of clothes, and her firearm disassembled into innocuous parts. Lena had just her leather tote and a small overnight duffel that they’d hastily packed back at the cabin. “We’re all set, thank you,” Kara said softly.

With a nod, the woman handed over the key. Kara felt Lena step forward to take it, their fingers briefly brushing as Lena scooped the key into her own palm. Kara’s heart gave a small thump at even that fleeting contact – proof of just how tightly wound her emotions were around the woman beside her. She drew a slow breath, steadying herself, and gestured toward the staircase.

They made their way up together, their footsteps muffled on the thick, floral-patterned carpet. The hallway lights upstairs had been dimmed for the night, casting long shadows along the narrow corridor. Kara automatically took the lead, her free hand hovering near her hip where her gun would normally rest holstered (though at the moment it was stowed in the rucksack). She heard Lena’s quiet exhale behind her – not quite a sigh, more an audible release of tension now that they were safely off the road. Kara wished she could offer more comfort than her silent vigilance, but she wasn’t sure where they stood with such gestures.

Room 204 was at the far end of the hall. Kara inserted the key and gently pushed the door open, instinctively stepping in first. The room was modest and clean, if a bit old-fashioned. Two twin beds sat with their carved wooden headboards against one wall, dressed in simple white coverlets. Heavy burgundy curtains were drawn across what was likely a window overlooking the car park. A single lamp on the bedside table cast a warm golden glow over the space, illuminating a writing desk, a wardrobe with a mirror on it, and a small door that led to an en-suite bathroom. The heater had been turned on low; Kara could feel the faint warmth cutting through the chill of the October night outside.

She stood still for a moment, doing a quick, practiced sweep with her eyes. Habit had her checking potential hiding spots – behind the curtains, inside the bathroom – but of course, the room was empty save for them. Lena hovered in the doorway watching Kara’s meticulous survey with an unreadable expression. Kara realised how she must appear, prowling the perimeter of a perfectly ordinary hotel room, and cleared her throat. “Old habits,” she murmured by way of explanation, attempting a wry smile.

Lena stepped inside fully and closed the door softly behind her. “It’s fine,” she said, voice gentle. “I appreciate it, actually.” She set her bag down at the foot of the bed on the right. “I’d expect nothing less from my bodyguard.”

The term “bodyguard” was said lightly, almost teasingly, but it caused Kara to flinch inwardly nonetheless. It was a reminder of the lie that had sat between them for so long – Kara the undercover protector, never truly the freelance writer she pretended to be. She glanced down, focusing on untying her boots to hide the flicker of guilt in her eyes. “Force of habit,” she repeated quietly. “I just want us to be safe.”

“I know.” Lena’s tone was soft, and when Kara looked up, Lena was watching her with a mixture of fatigue and something warmer, something like gratitude. Lena offered a small, understanding smile as she draped her coat over the back of the chair by the desk. “I wasn’t making fun of you, Kara. Sorry if it came off that way.”

Kara shook her head immediately. “No need to apologise. I’m just… on edge.” She peeled off her own jacket – a dark waterproof that still carried a damp chill from outside – and hung it on a hook by the door. “It’s been a long day.”

That earned a faint huff of agreement from Lena. “Understatement.” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose briefly, as if warding off a headache. In the soft lamplight, Kara could see the dark smudges of exhaustion beneath Lena’s green eyes. They’d both been pushing hard with little rest: investigating leads through the night at the cabin, then setting off at first light for Scotland. Lena had insisted on taking turns at the wheel despite Kara’s protests, which at least had given Kara a few hours to close her eyes – though she wasn’t sure she’d actually slept. Lena likely hadn’t either.

“Do you want the bathroom first?” Kara asked. She felt a strange awkwardness in the question, despite its mundanity. It struck her that this was the first time they were sharing a private space – a bedchamber, a hotel room – since… since that night. The memory flickered at the edges of her mind: Lena’s body entwined with hers, warm skin in moonlight, whispered breaths and an intimacy that had permanently marked Kara’s soul. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet here they were again, alone in a quiet room as night deepened. Only now, so much lay unspoken between them.

Lena seemed to hesitate, her fingers lingering on the clasp of her bag as she thought. “Actually, would you mind going first? I need to make a quick call,” she said. “Just to check in with Sam and ensure everything’s alright back in London.”

“Of course.” Kara understood the unspoken context: Sam, Lena’s close friend and second-in-command at L-Corp, was likely worried about Lena’s sudden disappearance from the city. They’d left in a rush and off the grid; Lena would want to reassure her friend that she was safe without revealing details. And perhaps Lena just needed a moment alone, after hours in close quarters with Kara. “Take your time. I’ll be quick.”

Kara grabbed her rucksack and retrieved a change of clothes – just a soft grey T-shirt and drawstring sleep trousers – then made her way into the bathroom. She shut the door gently behind her and released a slow breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

Within the bathroom’s confines, Kara set her hands on the sink for a moment, steadying herself. In the mirror above the faucet, she caught her reflection: a weary face, blonde hair tousled and windblown, a faint purplish bruise on her cheekbone from the scuffle at the cabin earlier that day. She hadn’t even glanced at that until now; it must have blossomed during the drive. Her lip was no longer split, at least – that had been tended to in the car by Lena’s careful hand with a tissue and antiseptic from the glove box, an unexpectedly tender moment that still warmed Kara to remember.

She let the rucksack fall to the floor and quickly turned on the shower tap to mask any sound. Hot water cascaded over her hand when she tested it – the pipes rattled a little, but it would do. Kara stripped off her travel-worn clothes. Mud from the cabin’s forest floor and sweat from her adrenaline-fuelled fight with Edge’s thug streaked her jeans and skin. No wonder Lena had insisted Kara change and take the first shower; she was a dishevelled mess. Kara winced at the tightness in her right shoulder as she pulled her shirt over her head, the old wound aching from a day spent tense behind the wheel and ready for combat.

Stepping under the spray, Kara closed her eyes and let the hot water pound against the knotted muscles of her back. She tried to focus on practical matters – what time to head to the warehouse in the morning, how best to approach it under cover, whether they should surveil overnight or catch a few hours of sleep – but her mind refused to cooperate. Instead, it drifted to Lena, as it had a habit of doing whenever Kara’s guard slipped for even a moment.

Lena, just outside that door, perhaps still on the phone or by now sitting alone in the lamplight, waiting. Lena, who had every right to despise Kara for her deception, yet was here anyway, braving danger by her side. Kara tipped her face into the stream, water scalding away the chill that had settled in her bones. Why are you here, Lena? she thought silently, not for the first time in recent days. Why trust me now, after everything?

She hadn’t dared voice those questions aloud. She was afraid to. If she asked, Lena might realise she didn’t have a solid answer and bolt. Selfishly, Kara didn’t want to risk that. Lena’s presence was something she craved beyond reason – a second chance she had thought impossible. And yet every time Kara looked at Lena, she felt that pang of guilt and uncertainty. Kara knew she would never hurt Lena again if she could help it; she’d sooner die than betray her. But she didn’t know how to convey that, or if Lena would believe it even if she did.

Kara braced her palms against the cool tiled wall, bowing her head as the water sluiced through her hair. They had come so far in piecing together this plot against Lena, and tomorrow might bring the confrontation they’d been working toward. By all rights, she should be solely focused on that mission. Yet here, now, all she could think about was the woman just a room away.

She remembered nights in London when Lena had been just as near – in the guest room of Lena’s penthouse after a movie, or across a campfire during their countryside trip to test the drone jammer – times when Kara had watched over Lena through the night while pretending to be merely a concerned friend. Back then, Kara would sit awake listening to Lena’s soft breathing, fighting the urge to be closer. How many nights had she silently wished she could cross the distance and hold Lena in her arms? Too many to count.

And one night, she had. The memory washed over Kara more thoroughly than the water: the softness of Lena’s body pressed against her in the dark, the sound of Lena’s voice whispering Kara’s name like a prayer, the way their tears had mingled with their kisses. For a few precious hours that night, Kara had allowed herself to believe Lena was hers, and she Lena’s. Until reality came crashing back.

Kara squeezed her eyes shut, her throat tightening at the thought. That night had ended without promises as well, she recalled. They had fallen asleep tangled together, and by morning there was an unspoken understanding that nothing was certain. Lena had smiled at her, shy and radiant in the dawn light… and then the world intruded. Violence. Truth. The betrayal Lena had discovered shattered whatever delicate hope had been blooming between them.

She exhaled shakily, running a hand over her face. She couldn’t let those memories paralyse her. What was done was done; she couldn’t change the past. All she could do was prove with every breath she took now that she was worthy of Lena’s trust moving forward – as a partner in this fight, perhaps someday as more. If Lena would ever even want her as more. Kara’s heart clenched at the uncertainty.

Finishing her shower, Kara toweled off and dressed in the clean T-shirt and drawstring sleep pants. The soft cotton was a comfort against her skin after a day spent in heavy travel clothes. She towel-dried her hair as best she could, then combed her fingers through the damp golden strands to tame the worst of it. The mirror had fogged up, sparing her from having to see the doubt etched in her own expression.

Before leaving the bathroom, she gathered her dirty clothes and folded them into a plastic bag to avoid dripping on the carpet. She took an extra minute to steady herself, hand on the doorknob. Whatever maelstrom of feeling she had swirling inside, she needed to keep it in check. Lena didn’t need to be burdened with any of Kara’s turmoil tonight. They both just needed rest.

Kara opened the door and stepped back into the main room, a puff of warm steam trailing out with her. She half expected to see Lena still on the phone, but instead Lena was off the call and standing by the window, peeking past a sliver of curtain at the dark car park below. At Kara’s emergence, Lena turned. Her gaze slid over Kara briefly – noting her changed clothes, her damp hair – and something in Lena’s eyes softened. Kara suddenly became acutely aware of how casual and vulnerable she must appear right now, compared to her usual guarded formality. Barefoot, hair loose, essentially in pyjamas; it felt oddly intimate, even though she was fully covered. She resisted the reflex to cross her arms over her chest and hide.

“Sorry to take so long,” Kara said quietly. “Bathroom’s free now.”

Lena nodded and stepped away from the window. “No worries. Sam sends her love, by the way,” she offered. “She was frantic, but I told her I’m safe and with… with a trusted friend.” Lena’s voice gentled on those last words, almost tentative.

A trusted friend. Kara’s chest constricted. She wasn’t sure she deserved that designation yet, but hearing Lena say it was like balm to a wound she hadn’t realised was still aching. “Thank you,” Kara murmured. “For… for saying that. And for reassuring her. I’m sure she’ll still have our heads for running off alone later, but…”

Lena gave a ghost of a smile. “She’ll understand. She knows why I have to do this.” Lena picked up her own pyjamas from her bag – Kara caught a glimpse of silky dark fabric in Lena’s hands, perhaps a camisole and shorts – and a small toiletry kit. As she passed Kara on the way to the bathroom, she paused a half-step. “And Kara… you should know: I told Sam I trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Kara looked up sharply, meeting Lena’s gaze. Lena’s expression was open, earnest, leaving no room to doubt her sincerity. The words were simple, factual, but to Kara they meant everything. I trust you. Kara’s throat went dry; all the replies that leapt to mind – You won’t regret it, I swear I won’t let you down again, I don’t deserve this – tangled together and none made it out. In the end, she just dipped her head in acknowledgement, unable to help the grateful shine in her eyes.

Lena gave a small nod, as if understanding all the things Kara couldn’t say in that moment. Then she continued on into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click that echoed in the quiet room.

Left alone now, Kara exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The silence felt heavier without Lena’s presence, but also less fraught thanks to what Lena had just said. She trusts me. Kara sank down on the edge of the bed closest to her, elbows on her knees as she rubbed at her face. That simple affirmation eased some taut knot in her chest. It wasn’t total forgiveness, not necessarily, but it was a start – a bridge between them she had feared might be forever burned.

She listened to the muffled sounds of Lena moving about the bathroom – water running, the faint clink of bottles as Lena washed up. Kara busied herself by tidying their scattered belongings. She set the rucksack aside, propped their phones on the desk to charge from the single outlet, and checked that the door was bolted and latched. Satisfied, she turned off the overhead light, leaving only the bedside lamp to cast a gentle glow. That small act made the room immediately feel calmer, more cocooned. Kara sat back down on her bed, unsure what to do with herself while waiting.

Her mind wandered to Lena again, to those words: I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Kara replayed them over and over, finding both solace and a spark of hope. Maybe she hadn’t lost everything, after all. Maybe Lena could truly see her – the real her, beneath all the layers of lies and hurt. She desperately wanted that to be true. If there was one thing Kara had learned in the lonely months after she’d left Lena’s life, it was that losing Lena was unbearable. She would give anything, do anything, to earn a place in Lena’s life again, however Lena would have her.

From behind the bathroom door came the whoosh of the shower turning on. Kara found herself imagining Lena stepping under the spray, head tipped back as the water soaked through her dark hair, steam curling around her fair skin. It wasn’t the first time Kara’s thoughts had drifted in that direction; she had a vivid memory of Lena in her silk robe, face dewy from a nighttime skincare routine, smiling as she’d bid Kara goodnight back when Kara had occasionally stayed over in the name of “research.” Kara would lie awake on those nights, staring at the ceiling and wondering how it might feel to be truly invited into Lena’s world, into her bed, into her heart.

She knew how it felt now – at least for one fleeting moment in time – and that knowledge hummed in her like an ache. Even as she tried to set her mind on the mission, on practicalities, her senses were attuned to Lena’s presence. The subtle scent of Lena’s perfume still clung to the room’s air: something elegant, with hints of jasmine and cedar, now mixing with the clean scent of soap wafting from the bathroom. Kara closed her eyes and let herself drift on those sensations, just for a minute. They were both bone-tired; perhaps after cleaning up they would simply collapse into separate beds and sleep. It would be understandable, even wise.

Yet Kara’s pulse quickened faintly at the thought that maybe – just maybe – the night would not end with such distance between them. They had said nothing, done nothing, to indicate otherwise. But hope, once rekindled, was a stubborn thing.

She tamped it down. It wouldn’t be fair to expect anything, nor even prudent. Lena’s trust was tentative, newly given; the last thing Kara wanted was to push her or presume closeness where they were still healing. Patience, she reminded herself. If all she and Lena did tonight was sleep a few feet apart, that was still a miracle compared to the chasm that had separated them not long ago.

Still, as Kara opened her eyes and noticed that Lena had left a gap in the heavy curtains, she found herself drawn to it. She stood and approached the window, curiosity and the need for a small distraction guiding her. With the overhead lights off, the glass acted as a partial mirror. She could see her own faint reflection overlaying the night outside. Kara gingerly pulled the curtain back a few inches to peer out. The view was of the car park and beyond it a silhouette of the Inverness skyline. The outline of the old castle on the hill was just visible against the star-scattered sky. Down below, their car was one of only a few in the lot, and no movement stirred in the shadows. All quiet. Kara let the curtain fall back.

She caught sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror then – standing there in bare feet and loose clothes, looking younger and more vulnerable than she felt. It reminded her of other late nights and early mornings, glimpsing her reflection in Lena’s kitchen window while making coffee as Lena still slept. In those moments, she used to picture a future where scenes like that could be ordinary – waking up together, sharing quiet domestic moments free of fear and secrets. That future had been dashed, but now, for the first time, Kara wondered if it might be rebuilding itself in a new form. Perhaps nothing was truly lost as long as they were both still here, trying.

The water in the bathroom shut off with a metallic squeak of the tap. Kara’s heart gave an involuntary thud. She returned to sit on the edge of her bed, suddenly unsure where to put her hands or how to arrange her face. Was it obvious that she’d been deep in thought, reminiscing about a life that might never be? She laced her fingers together and drew a calming breath, focusing on an innocuous spot on the carpet until the door finally opened.

Lena stepped out amid a cloud of warm steam. She had changed into her sleepwear: a satin camisole of midnight blue and matching drawstring trousers that skimmed her long legs. Her damp raven hair was gathered over one shoulder, a few droplets of water still clinging to her skin. In the soft lamplight, Lena looked achingly beautiful and disarmingly casual – a far cry from the crisp, guarded CEO she showed to the world. Kara’s breath hitched before she could stop it; she hoped the sound wasn’t audible.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lena glanced around the room – noting the drawn curtains, the extinguished overhead lamp, the fact that Kara had neatly arranged what little gear they had. Her eyes landed on Kara, and they simply regarded each other in silence. Kara wondered if Lena’s thoughts were skirting the edges of that shared memory too. This situation was so similar, after all, to that night in the safehouse weeks ago: the two of them alone, washed and changed, barriers lowered by exhaustion and emotional overload. Last time, comfort and heartache had led them into each other’s arms. Now… what would happen now?

Lena closed the bathroom door and released a shaky breath, her back leaning against the wood for a moment. Her heart was fluttering in her chest in a way she couldn’t quite blame on the long day or the hot shower alone. Through the door, she had heard the soft murmur of Kara’s voice – that gentle thank you when Lena had affirmed her trust. The look on Kara’s face in that moment had etched itself in Lena’s mind: surprise, relief, and a raw gratitude that made Lena’s chest ache. It was the same open, guileless expression Kara had worn in quieter times back in London, long before betrayal and heartbreak had cast shadows between them.

For the first time, standing alone in the steamy hush of the bathroom, Lena allowed herself to fully process what she’d seen in Kara’s eyes just now. This was the real Kara – the woman who cared so deeply, felt so intensely, and tried so hard to do right by everyone but herself. The layers of guarded professionalism and guilt that Kara habitually wore had slipped for that instant, and Lena saw the truth underneath. And that truth was the same one Lena had fallen for weeks ago, on late nights and lazy Sunday mornings, when she thought Kara was just an awkward, kind-hearted writer with secrets in her smile. It was always her, Lena realised with a keen tightening in her throat. Undercover or not, it was always Kara.

She moved on autopilot then, setting her dirty clothes aside and turning on the shower to let it warm. Her mind was far from the practical tasks of rinsing travel dust from her skin or lathering shampoo through her hair. Instead, memories swirled and eddied in Lena’s head as the hot water pounded over her: Kara laughing softly over a physics joke at Lena’s lab, Kara’s steady hands bandaging a cut on Lena’s palm after a clumsy kitchen mishap, Kara’s cautious, tender eyes the night they danced together in Lena’s living room to a scratchy old jazz record. At the time, Lena thought those moments were simple, honest sparks between two friends becoming something more. After the truth came out, she’d questioned everything – wondering if even those tender moments had been calculated parts of the cover.

But here and now, with the benefit of distance and the evidence of Kara’s unwavering dedication since, Lena could finally see it clearly. Kara might have lied about being a bodyguard, but she had never lied in how she cared. Not in the small kindnesses, not in the gentle way she listened to Lena’s worries late at night, and not in the way she held Lena as if she were something precious. All of that had been real. Lena’s eyes stung with sudden emotion as the revelation settled into her bones: she had known Kara all along – the real Kara, the one who loved deeply and fiercely. The deception of context didn’t erase the authenticity of those shared moments.

Lena pressed a palm to the cool tile wall, steadying herself as a tear mingled with the water on her cheek. She wasn’t prone to self-doubt, but losing Kara had cut her deeper than she’d ever let on. She’d been so angry, so hurt – not only because of the lies, but because she thought the person she’d cherished had never truly existed. It was like mourning a ghost. But that ghost was alive, flesh and blood and waiting in the next room, heart-on-sleeve despite all her attempts at stoicism. Kara was here, real and repentant and so achingly beautiful in her vulnerability that it stole Lena’s breath.

Wiping her eyes, Lena tilted her face into the spray, letting the scalding water wash away soap and tears alike. She had no illusions that everything between them was suddenly simple – there were wounds that still needed healing, trust that needed careful rebuilding. The future was as uncertain as ever. And yet, tonight, in this moment, Lena knew one thing with startling clarity: she missed Kara. She missed the warmth of Kara’s arms, the safety she felt in that embrace. She missed the taste of Kara’s lips and the way Kara’s heartbeat sounded under her ear in the quiet after midnight. No matter how much she’d tried to bury those feelings under logic and anger, they were still there, pulsing just beneath the surface.

Lena shut off the water and stepped out into the muggy air of the bathroom. She towelled herself dry and slipped into her satin cami and pyjama bottoms. The soft fabric against her clean skin was a comfort, but she couldn’t ignore the nervous energy tingling beneath her skin. As she finger-combed her damp hair and applied a quick layer of moisturiser to her face, she caught herself in the mirror. Her own green eyes stared back, wide and a touch apprehensive. She looked softer than the ruthless businesswoman the newspapers liked to portray – younger, almost – with her hair down and no makeup, worry and hope written plainly across her face.

“All right, Lena,” she whispered to her reflection, drawing in a steadying breath. Her heart fluttered in anticipation of walking back out that door. What exactly was she intending to do? They were here to work, to finish what they’d started – to stop Edge and ensure all Lena’s efforts weren’t destroyed. But for the next few hours, in this little bubble of a hotel room, the urgent pressures of that mission had receded. All that remained was Kara, and Lena, and the unresolved current between them that had been steadily building since the moment Kara reappeared in Lena’s life.

Perhaps they would just talk. Perhaps they truly would only collapse into separate beds and sleep off their exhaustion. Lena knew that was the sensible course. And yet… the way Kara had looked at her when handing over the bathroom, the way Kara’s breath had subtly caught seeing Lena in her nightwear – those clues did not escape Lena’s notice. Even now, thinking of it sent a flush of warmth through her.

She wanted to be close to Kara tonight; that truth hummed within her louder than caution. Maybe it was foolish or dangerous to open herself back up to the possibility of more heartbreak. But after everything they’d faced – kidnappings, fights, secrets revealed and new threats emerging – Lena was tired of being ruled by fear. If the world might come crashing down again tomorrow, she needed this honesty between them tonight. Honesty not in words, but in touch, in feeling.

Decision made, Lena gathered her nerves and cracked open the bathroom door. A swell of cooler air met her as she stepped out. The main room was dim and calm, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Kara sat on the edge of the left bed, her back straightening a little as Lena emerged. Their eyes met across the small space, and Lena’s heart gave a slow, potent thump.

Kara looked… adorable, was the first word that floated through Lena’s mind. Adorable and heartbreakingly endearing, sitting there in her grey sleep shirt and loose pants, blonde hair slightly damp and tucked behind her ears. The bruise on Kara’s cheek had darkened – a smudge of purple against her fair skin – and it tugged at Lena’s conscience. Kara had gotten hurt protecting her, yet again. The thought spurred Lena forward. She found herself crossing the room until she stood directly in front of Kara.

“Hi,” Lena said softly. It was absurd, like they’d just run into each other casually, but her mind stumbled for a better opening.

Kara’s lips curved in a faint, nervous smile. “Hi.” She looked up, eyes keen and blue in the lamplight, searching Lena’s face as if to gauge her mood. Kara seemed almost afraid to move, as if one wrong motion might startle Lena away.

Silence pooled between them for a moment. Lena realised she was close enough to catch the clean scent of the hotel soap on Kara’s skin, and a hint of something intrinsically Kara beneath it – a warm, subtly spiced scent that made Lena’s head swim with familiarity. She drew in a slow breath. “Are you feeling all right? Your shoulder… and your cheek—” she murmured, lifting a hand without thinking. Her fingertips barely brushed the air near Kara’s cheekbone, not quite touching the bruise.

Kara’s eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat at the nearness of Lena’s touch. “I’m okay,” she replied, voice low. “It looks worse than it is.” Then, as if remembering something, Kara reached gently toward Lena’s upper arm. “What about you? Is your arm…?” Her fingertips ghosted over the silk covering Lena’s bicep, where a faint discolouration from that thug’s grip earlier was likely visible.

Lena felt that light contact like a spark. “It’s fine,” she said. In truth, the bruise ached dully, but it hardly mattered now. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Kara nodded, her hand hovering uncertainly as though she wanted to do more but restrained herself. The air between them felt charged. Lena’s skin prickled with awareness at how close they stood – Kara seated, Lena standing before her, less than an arm’s length apart. Memories of another night, another bedroom, surged up: the moment Lena had decided to kiss Kara for the first time, after Kara had bared her soul about her past. There, as now, Kara had been so still, so careful, as if convinced she didn’t deserve comfort until Lena had given it freely.

Looking at her now, Lena saw that same hesitance, the worry that any initiative might be unwelcome. She’s waiting for permission, Lena realised. For me to set the terms. Lena’s heart squeezed. After all Kara had done – both good and bad – the last thing Lena wanted was for Kara to feel she had to hold herself back out of guilt. Not tonight.

Lena gently closed the remaining inches between them and settled herself on the bed beside Kara. The mattress dipped under her weight. Face to face now at the same height, their shoulders nearly touching, Lena could see the subtle hitch in Kara’s breathing. “We should probably try to sleep soon,” Lena said softly, her gaze dropping to Kara’s lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Right. Sleep,” Kara echoed, though she made no move to pull away or to lie down. Her voice had gone huskier. “We should… definitely do that.”

Neither of them moved. The tiny smile that tugged at Kara’s mouth told Lena that Kara recognised the futility of her own words. It was almost funny, how they sat here talking about sleep yet gravitated closer by the second. Lena felt Kara’s knee bump lightly against hers – an unconscious lean – and that simple touch sent a delightful shiver up her leg.

“I can take the floor, if you want the bed,” Kara said suddenly, quietly. It sounded like an offer made on reflex, duty rather than desire.

Lena frowned and reached out to cover Kara’s hand with her own where it rested between them. “Don’t be silly. There are two beds here.” Her thumb stroked the back of Kara’s hand softly, and she felt Kara’s fingers twitch at the contact.

“I know,” Kara replied. Her eyes dropped to their joined hands, and she let out a shaky exhale. “I just… I don’t want to assume anything. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Lena’s chest constricted. Even now, Kara was thinking of her comfort above all. Lena shifted, turning fully toward Kara and not letting go of her hand. “You’re not assuming. And I’m not uncomfortable.” Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if Kara could see the pulse at her throat. Just say it, Lena. She wet her lips. “Truthfully, I’d rather not be apart from you tonight.”

Kara’s gaze snapped back up to Lena’s, surprise flashing across her features. “You… wouldn’t?”

Heat bloomed in Lena’s cheeks at her own boldness. But she held Kara’s gaze steadily. “No. In fact, I’d prefer it if you stayed with me.” She gave Kara’s hand a gentle squeeze. The invitation hung in the air, unmistakable now.

For an agonising second, Kara simply stared, as if doubting her ears. Then Lena saw the understanding dawn, flooding Kara’s expression with equal parts yearning and uncertainty. “Lena,” Kara whispered, her tone pained. “Is this… are you sure? I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.”

The morning. Always that looming unknown. Lena felt a flicker of fear – of course she did. So much could go wrong, emotions could entangle further, maybe she would end up hurt again. But the alternative was walking away from the one person who felt like home. And that, she knew, she would regret even more. “I’m sure,” Lena murmured. She lifted her free hand and, with the lightest touch, traced the outline of Kara’s strong jaw where it tensed anxiously. “I want you here with me. I want you, Kara.”

A soft sound escaped Kara’s throat – half a gasp, half a sigh. It was all the warning Lena got before Kara surged forward, closing the remaining distance. Their lips met, gently at first, a feather-light contact that nonetheless sent a wave of relief and yearning through Lena’s entire being. God, how she had missed this.

Lena inhaled sharply against Kara’s lips. The kiss was tentative, a question posed in the softest brush of mouth on mouth. In answer, Lena pressed closer and kissed Kara back with all the quiet longing she’d bottled up. Kara’s lips were warm, a little damp from her nervous tongue, and they trembled faintly against Lena’s. That tremble – that hint of fear and hope – broke something in Lena in the sweetest way. A small sound of yearning rose in her chest as she cupped Kara’s cheek, deepening their kiss.

That was all the encouragement Kara seemed to need. With a delicate shudder, Kara kissed Lena more firmly, her arm sliding around Lena’s back. Lena felt Kara’s palm spread between her shoulder blades, drawing her in as if afraid to let go. They shifted together, turning fully into each other. Lena’s knee brushed Kara’s thigh; Kara’s toes, warm against the top of Lena’s foot, curled slightly. Everything about the contact was achingly familiar and yet electrifyingly new after so long apart.

They kissed slowly, as if rediscovering the taste and texture of each other. Kara’s lips moved with reverence, pausing every few heartbeats as though to savour the reality. Lena could feel Kara’s breathing grow unsteady each time Lena’s tongue flickered softly against hers. A deep flush of heat pooled in Lena’s belly. She slid her hand from Kara’s cheek into her damp hair, fingers threading through the golden strands at the nape of Kara’s neck. Kara made a quiet whimper at that, a sound Lena remembered well – the same one Kara had made that first time when Lena held her close and kissed away her tears.

The memory spurred Lena on. She tilted her head, angling the kiss deeper. Their mouths opened to each other, and Lena drank in the little gasp Kara made as their tongues met. The intimacy of it – the slow, erotic glide, the exchange of breath – sent Lena’s senses spinning. She felt Kara’s arm tighten around her back, pressing their bodies closer. The thin satin of Lena’s camisole did nothing to dull the sensation of Kara’s form against hers; she could feel the firm line of Kara’s torso, the soft swell of Kara’s breasts brushing against her own with each ragged inhale.

Kara pulled back fractionally, her forehead coming to rest against Lena’s. Both of them were breathing heavily now in the hush. Kara’s eyes stayed closed as she whispered, almost raggedly, “I missed you… so much.” The words slipped out like they couldn’t be contained, laden with months of heartache.

Emotion lodged in Lena’s throat. She nuzzled the tip of her nose against Kara’s and whispered back, “I missed you too.” It was such a pitifully insufficient phrase for the void Kara’s absence had left, but it was what she could manage before her voice failed. She pressed a brief, tender kiss to Kara’s upper lip, just to feel Kara’s breath catch again. Their tears were perilously close to the surface, she could tell – both of them were glassy-eyed as they shared the same breath.

No more words. Lena didn’t trust herself not to cry if they continued talking, and she didn’t want sadness to steal this moment. Instead, she let her hands speak for her, trailing them down from Kara’s neck to her shoulders and then lower. The cotton of Kara’s shirt was soft beneath Lena’s fingertips as she grazed them over Kara’s collarbone and the top of her chest. She felt, rather than saw, Kara’s eyes flutter shut, a tremor coursing through her as Lena’s touch ghosted the upper curve of her breast through the fabric.

“Lena…” Kara exhaled shakily, and Lena heard the unspoken question in the way Kara said her name. Is this okay? Do we go further?

In response, Lena captured Kara’s lips again, pouring her answer into another slow, adoring kiss. Simultaneously, she guided Kara’s hand from her back around to her front, flattening Kara’s palm just over her racing heart. Kara made a soft, broken sound against Lena’s mouth. Whether it was the feeling of Lena’s heart pounding or the tacit permission Lena was giving, something unlocked in Kara then. In a sudden motion, Kara shifted them, lifting and twisting just enough to guide Lena down onto the mattress.

Lena found herself lying back on the plush pillows, Kara hovering above her. The room spun pleasantly with the change in orientation. Kara’s hair fell in a golden curtain around them, and Lena couldn’t help a small smile at the déjà vu – they had been here once before, tangled in lamplight and longing. But this time, Lena felt even more present, more certain. She slid her hands to Kara’s waist, thumbs slipping under the hem of that grey tee to stroke the warm skin beneath. Kara inhaled sharply, muscles twitching under Lena’s light caress.

Emboldened, Lena tugged at the shirt. “Off,” she whispered, meeting Kara’s eyes. Desire and love and a hint of nervousness warred in those blue depths. Lena gentled her voice. “Let me feel you.”

Kara needed no further convincing. She sat back just enough to yank the shirt over her head, tossing it aside. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, and the sight that greeted Lena forced an appreciative sigh from her lips. The lamplight gilded Kara’s bare torso in gold. The lean definition of her arms and shoulders spoke to her strength, but there was also such softness – the gentle curves of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath, the slight swell of her hips above the waistband of her pants. Lena’s gaze drank her in hungrily, but it snagged on one detail in particular: the pale scar that slashed across Kara’s right shoulder, a reminder of old pain.

Lena’s chest constricted with tenderness at that sight. Without a word, she sat up just enough to press her lips to that scar, reverent and slow. Kara’s breath hitched; she bowed her head, eyes closing as Lena’s mouth lingered over the raised mark of an old bullet wound. Lena’s kiss travelled along the length of it, silently avowing acceptance, understanding, forgiveness.

Kara’s fingers wove into Lena’s damp dark hair, not to pull her away but simply to hold her there a moment. Lena felt a drop of moisture hit her shoulder – a tear that had fallen from Kara’s cheek. It nearly undid her. She pulled back to look at Kara, and sure enough, Kara’s eyes were shining, a single tear having escaped down her face. But Kara was smiling – a tremulous, radiant thing.

Before Lena could speak, Kara bent down and caught Lena’s lips in a fervent kiss. Lena could taste the salt of Kara’s tear between them and responded with a low, soothing moan. As they kissed, Kara’s hands found the straps of Lena’s satin cami. With a hesitant sort of reverence, Kara drew them down over Lena’s shoulders, trailing her fingertips in their wake. The cool air brushed Lena’s newly exposed skin, pebbling her flesh. Kara’s lips broke from hers and began to wander – along Lena’s jaw, down the side of her neck where her pulse fluttered.

Lena let her head fall back, eyes slipping shut as sensation took over. Kara’s mouth was soft and warm, placing open-mouthed kisses across Lena’s collarbone. When one of Kara’s hands slid up from Lena’s waist to cover her breast through the thin satin, Lena couldn’t suppress the gasp that rose within her. The fabric was merely a whisper between them; Kara’s palm was hot and gentle, her thumb stroking over the peak of Lena’s nipple until it ached for more contact.

“Kara,” Lena sighed, arching into the touch. She wasn’t above begging – not after months of feeling cold and empty without this. “Please…”

Kara lifted her head at that, and the two locked eyes. Whatever Kara saw on Lena’s face seemed to dissolve the last of her restraint. In one smooth motion, Kara pushed the camisole further down, freeing Lena’s breasts from the delicate cloth. Lena heard the quiet hitch of Kara’s breath as she gazed down at Lena’s bare chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kara whispered, almost reverently. The raw awe in her tone made Lena’s cheeks burn and her heart flip in equal measure.

Before Lena could respond, Kara dipped her head and took Lena’s left nipple into her mouth. A strangled moan tore from Lena’s throat at the wet, sudden heat and the exquisite gentle suction. She cradled the back of Kara’s head reflexively, holding her close as Kara lavished attention on the sensitive peak with her tongue. Each lick sent a jolt of pleasure straight through Lena, building a needy fire low in her belly.

Lena’s other nipple stiffened in sympathy, and as if intuiting her need, Kara brought her hand up to roll and tease it between her fingers. The dual sensation – Kara’s warm mouth on one breast, her deft touch on the other – was almost overwhelming. Lena’s hips shifted of their own accord, a soft whimper escaping her as she felt emptiness throb between her thighs. She squeezed them together, trying to quell the ache, but it only sharpened her desire.

Kara released her nipple with a final, loving suck and trailed kisses back up to Lena’s lips. Lena captured Kara’s mouth with a hungry sound, tasting herself there. She could feel Kara’s heart hammering against her own chest now. At some point, Kara had settled more fully between Lena’s legs, the weight of her thigh pressing up against the satin between Lena’s hips. The pressure made Lena keen softly into Kara’s mouth. Even through two layers of thin fabric, the contact sent a delicious spark through her core.

The room had become a cocoon of heat and quiet gasps and whispered names. Kara’s kisses grew fiercer, more urgent, and Lena matched them with equal fervour. Her hands roamed down the smooth plane of Kara’s back, tracing muscle and spine, memorising the way Kara’s body tensed and shivered at her caresses. When Lena reached the elastic waistband of Kara’s sleep pants, she tugged meaningfully. Kara groaned softly and shifted to help Lena push them down over the curve of her backside. They tangled around one ankle and were kicked off in short order, leaving Kara clad only in a pair of simple cotton knickers.

Kara pressed back into Lena, and the feel of Kara’s nearly naked form against her own clothed lower half felt lopsided to Lena. She wanted no barriers between them. With a gentle nudge, Lena urged Kara onto her side so they lay facing each other. Kara’s face flashed worry – concerned perhaps that Lena wanted to stop – but Lena only smiled and hooked her fingers into the drawstring of her own pyjama bottoms. Catching on, Kara slid her hand down to assist, together pushing Lena’s satin trousers down and off. Lena’s breath caught as Kara’s knuckles brushed along the length of her legs during the process, lighting sparks in their wake. Soon those, too, were kicked away to the floor.

Now nothing but two thin pieces of underwear separated them. Lena’s camisole was bunched around her waist, and she started to tug it off entirely, but Kara laid a hand over hers. “Allow me,” Kara murmured, voice rough with desire.

Lena lowered her arms and let Kara peel the satin cami the rest of the way off. Kara took her time, ghosting her palms down Lena’s sides as she drew the fabric over Lena’s hips and down her legs. The slow, deliberate care in that simple act made Lena’s chest swell with emotion. When the garment finally joined the others on the floor, Kara returned her gaze to Lena as if she were beholding something precious and fragile.

Lena suddenly felt exposed in more ways than one. She had been naked with Kara before, but that was under the spell of adrenaline and urgency. Now Kara’s eyes held a tender patience, as though they had all the time in the world to simply look at each other. Lena fought the urge to cover herself, instead reaching for Kara’s hand and guiding it to rest over her racing heart once more. “I’m here,” she whispered, an echo of words she’d given Kara once before.

Kara’s face softened with love – unmistakable, unspoken love. She leaned in and kissed Lena with heartbreaking gentleness, as though sealing a vow formed of breath and skin rather than words. Lena answered in kind, pouring everything she couldn’t say into the slide of her lips and the press of her body.

Their kisses deepened again, inexorably drawn towards the final intimacy they both craved. As Kara’s thigh slipped between Lena’s, Lena felt the damp heat of Kara’s centre glancing against her own leg, and it made her dizzy with longing. Her own knickers were clinging uncomfortably to her wetness. With a quiet moan of frustration, Lena hitched one leg over Kara’s hip, silently pleading for more.

Kara understood. Her hand, which had been caressing the curve of Lena’s waist, drifted lower, fingertips exploring the elastic edge of Lena’s black lace panties. Lena’s stomach fluttered in anticipation. “May I?” Kara breathed, nuzzling Lena’s cheek even as her fingers teased at the boundary of cloth and skin.

“Yes,” Lena exhaled. “Please.”

One word, and Kara’s hand slipped beneath the lace. Lena’s whole body jolted at the first intimate stroke of Kara’s fingers between her folds. She was unutterably wet – her desire laid bare as Kara cupped her gently, sliding through the evidence of her arousal. Kara let out a soft, reverent curse under her breath, the crude word so unlike her usual composure that it sent a thrill through Lena.

Lena’s own hand was not idle. As Kara began to caress her in slow, unhurried circles, Lena sought out Kara’s pleasure in turn. She dipped her hand between their bodies and found the waistband of Kara’s knickers, then slipped her fingers inside. Kara gasped as Lena’s fingertips grazed over soft curls and down to her centre, finding her every bit as ready. They locked eyes, foreheads touching, breaths mingling rapid and warm. No more hesitation lingered there – only a mirrored need.

They moved together, fingers exploring and finally delving with desperate tenderness. Kara’s middle finger found Lena’s entrance and pressed in carefully, sinking into silky heat. Lena bit down on a cry, her inner muscles fluttering around the long-awaited intrusion. She responded in kind, sliding two of her own fingers into Kara’s slick warmth. The sound Kara made – a broken moan that might have been Lena’s name – spurred Lena’s hips to roll, urging Kara’s touch deeper.

“Oh—” Kara choked out softly, burying her face in the crook of Lena’s neck as pleasure rocked through them both. They began to move in a shared rhythm, hands working in tandem. It was gentle, almost languid at first – they were learning each other anew, each stroke a tender question answered by a breathless sigh or the curl of toes against calves. Lena concentrated on every tell: the way Kara’s breath stuttered when Lena’s thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, or the way Kara’s free arm clutched at Lena’s back when Lena’s fingers curled inside her just so. Likewise, Kara seemed attuned to Lena’s every reaction, adjusting her angle until Lena was trembling and clutching at Kara’s shoulders from the slow, delicious friction of her fingers.

The tension coiled within Lena with each thrust and swirl of Kara’s hand. She could feel Kara’s thighs shaking against her own, could hear the increasingly frantic hitch in Kara’s breath by her ear. They were both straining, holding on yet chasing release in equal measure. Lena turned her head and captured Kara’s lips in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing Kara’s quiet cry as Lena pressed her fingers deeper and faster. Kara matched her, their hands moving frenetically now, all finesse dissolving into pure need.

Lena tore her mouth away, gasping, “Kara… I’m—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Pleasure was cresting, her vision blurring with tears of exquisite intensity.

“I know,” Kara managed in a whimper, lifting her head. Her eyes were wet too, fever-bright and locked onto Lena’s. “Me too.”

Those two words, echoed from their first time, undid Lena completely. With a soft sob of ecstasy, she let go. The world seemed to shatter into starbursts behind her eyes as her climax rippled through her. She cried out Kara’s name, her entire body tensing and then releasing in wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure.

Through the roar of blood in her ears, Lena dimly heard Kara’s own moan break free – a raw, keening sound as Kara found her release an instant after. Kara’s inner walls pulsed around Lena’s fingers, gripping them in a way Lena found unspeakably beautiful. They clung to each other, trembling and riding out the storm together in perfect unison.

Gradually, the tremors subsided. Lena became aware that her face was damp – not just from perspiration, but from tears that had spilled at the height of emotion. She blinked them away, and saw Kara doing the same, hastily brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand even as their bodies remained entwined. Lena’s heart swelled, overflowing with tenderness.

Without a word, Lena guided Kara into her arms, shifting them so Kara half-lay atop her, head nestled against Lena’s breast. Their bodies were slick with sweat and other traces of their loving, but neither woman cared. Kara slipped her free arm around Lena’s waist, hugging her as though to meld them into one person. Lena pressed a kiss into Kara’s hair, both of them still breathing hard but utterly content.

In the profound silence that followed – punctuated only by their slowing heartbeats and the distant hum of the heater – Lena felt the sting of fresh tears threaten. This time they were not from pleasure, but from the overwhelming swell of love coursing through her. She turned and kissed Kara’s temple, tasting salt. Kara lifted her head slightly, eyes red-rimmed but shining with quiet joy.

They shared a fragile smile. No words came. What could they say? Everything important had been conveyed in the way they held each other, in every brush of lips and stroke of skin. Lena brought a hand up to caress Kara’s cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb. Kara captured Lena’s hand and kissed her fingertips in response, her eyes drifting shut at the contact, as if committing the moment to memory.

After a time, Kara shifted to lie beside Lena instead of on her, though she kept their bodies close. The bed was small, but they fit comfortably tangled together. Lena found herself on her side with Kara curled around her back, spooning her in a protective, gentle hold. Kara’s arm was draped over Lena’s waist, and their legs had threaded naturally. Lena could feel the steady rise and fall of Kara’s chest against her back, could hear the soothing rhythm of Kara’s breathing near her ear.

In that circle of Kara’s arms, Lena felt truly safe. Safer than she’d felt in months. She covered Kara’s hand at her waist with her own, threading their fingers. Kara responded by squeezing gently and tucking their joined hands in close against Lena’s heart.

Lena closed her eyes, an overwhelming sense of peace stealing over her. She knew, logically, that they still stood on uncertain ground. Come morning, the worries would return – about Edge, about what happened after they stopped him, about whether trust could hold steady in the daylight. But those were questions for another time. Tonight, she had Kara, and Kara had her, and that was enough.

In the heavy quiet, on the edge of sleep, Lena felt Kara nuzzle the back of her neck and whisper four hushed words that might as well have been a prayer: “I’m not letting go.” The promise in it was wordless and infinite, made of the warm arm around Lena’s middle and the tear that fell onto Lena’s skin as Kara said it.

Lena swallowed against the tightness in her throat and tightened her fingers around Kara’s. She didn’t trust her voice not to break if she tried to speak. Instead, she responded by easing their twined hands up to her lips and brushing a feather-light kiss across Kara’s knuckles. Kara sighed softly behind her, and Lena felt the tension finally drain from Kara’s body as they settled.

No explicit promises had been asked for or given beyond this simple truth: tonight, they chose each other. Whatever tomorrow held, whatever words remained unspoken for now, in this moment they had found their way back. Wrapped in Kara’s embrace, Lena allowed her eyes to drift shut, her lips curved in a faint, genuine smile.

Sleep was already tugging at her, the pull of contented exhaustion impossible to resist. As she surrendered to it, one last thought flickered through Lena’s mind, clear and resolute: We’ll face the future when it comes. Together, if we’re lucky.

And with that silent hope entwined around her heart, Lena Luthor fell asleep in the arms of Kara Danvers – the lie they had fallen into finally giving way to a fragile, precious truth.

Chapter Text

Kara woke with the first dull grey light of dawn filtering through the gap in the curtains. For a moment she remained very still, disoriented by warmth and softness instead of the cold adrenaline of recent mornings. A weight pressed against her side—heavy and gentle all at once. Lena. The memories of the night before came rushing back in a blissful haze: hesitant touches melting into urgency, whispered reassurances in the dark, Lena’s body entwined with hers under the covers. They had fallen asleep tangled together sometime in the early hours, and now Lena’s head was pillowed on Kara’s shoulder, one arm draped across Kara’s midsection. Kara’s heart squeezed at the sight. This was real. Not a dream, not another cruel figment of hope. Lena was in her arms, warm and alive and trusting her again.

Carefully, Kara shifted just enough to better see Lena’s face. Dark lashes rested against pale cheeks still flushed from sleep. A strand of raven hair had fallen over her eyes, and without thinking Kara gently brushed it back, tucking it behind Lena’s ear. Lena murmured faintly but didn’t wake, snuggling closer as if instinctively seeking Kara’s warmth. Kara felt a tender ache build in her chest. In that unguarded moment Lena looked so peaceful, so vulnerable in a way she rarely did awake. It humbled Kara that Lena felt safe enough to let down her guard with her once more.

She wished she could let this moment stretch on forever—just hold Lena like this, memorizing the steady rise and fall of her breathing and the way their legs were loosely tangled beneath the blankets. Last night had been nothing short of a miracle, a fragile bridge rebuilt between them. Kara closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a single selfish minute to savor the feel of Lena’s weight against her, the subtle perfume lingering on Lena’s skin mixing with the faint scent of clean hotel sheets. A part of her whispered how easy it would be to stay right here, to pretend that outside these walls there wasn’t a looming confrontation waiting for them with the man who had nearly destroyed them both.

But reality pressed in. Beyond the windows, the world was waking—pale morning light promising a clear day. And with morning came the mission they could not ignore. Kara’s gaze drifted to the digital clock on the nightstand. 5:45 AM. They had managed maybe four hours of restless sleep at most. Far from enough to recover fully from the prior day’s drive or the emotional intensity of the night, but it would have to do. Big day, she reminded herself. Edge won’t wait.

As if sensing Kara’s mounting tension, Lena stirred. Her fingers flexed against Kara’s stomach, bunching a bit of Kara’s t-shirt in her fist. Kara had slept in her underclothes and shirt, too aware of possible danger to indulge in complete disarmament even after intimacy. Lena’s thigh shifted against Kara’s, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Kara thought she might still be dreaming, but then green eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused for a second before sharpening with awareness. Lena lifted her head slightly from Kara’s shoulder, and when her gaze found Kara’s face, a slow, gentle smile curved her lips.

“Good morning,” Lena whispered, her voice roughened by sleep yet impossibly sweet to Kara’s ears.

“Morning,” Kara replied just as softly. She couldn’t help the answering smile that tugged at her own mouth. For a heartbeat they simply looked at each other in the dawn light, sharing a quiet intimacy that neither dared put into words. Kara raised a hand and caressed Lena’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, a delicate stroke that made Lena’s eyes flutter shut briefly.

Lena leaned into the touch, but a moment later her expression sobered, reality catching up. “Today…” she began, her voice trailing off. There was a trace of apprehension in her tone now.

Kara nodded, understanding the unspoken thought. Today was the day they would face Morgan Edge’s machinations head-on. The warehouse. The proof they needed. The danger that entailed. All of it loomed now that morning had arrived. Kara felt Lena shift further, pushing herself up to sit against the headboard. The blankets pooled around Lena’s waist, revealing the silky camisole she had worn to bed and the bandage wrapped around her left upper arm and shoulder. The sight of that white gauze—stark against Lena’s skin—was a cold reminder of the violence Lena had already endured. Kara’s jaw tightened at the thought that Edge and his hired thugs had done that to her, and worse.

Lena followed Kara’s gaze to her bandaged arm. “It’s fine,” Lena said quietly, flexing the fingers of her left hand experimentally. “Just a scratch, really.”

Kara pushed herself up as well, careful of Lena’s space, and gently reached to examine Lena’s injured arm. The bandage was secure, though a small bloom of bruising peeked at its edge. Kara’s fingers ghosted over it without pressure. “Does it hurt much?” she asked, concern evident in her tone despite Lena’s nonchalance.

Lena shook her head. “Not if I don’t jostle it too much.” She managed a tiny smile meant to reassure. “Don’t worry, Agent Danvers. I can manage.”

Kara huffed a soft breath that was almost a laugh. “Old habits,” she murmured. Still, she met Lena’s eyes earnestly. “We’ll be careful. I won’t let you get hurt again.” The undercurrent of guilt and determination in her voice made Lena’s smile fade into something more solemn and tender.

“I trust you,” Lena said, and she placed her right hand over Kara’s where it hovered near her arm. Those three simple words warmed Kara more than any blanket. I trust you. There had been a time not long ago when Kara feared she would never hear Lena say that again. She turned her hand under Lena’s so their palms touched, fingers interlacing in a firm squeeze.

“Whatever happens,” Kara found herself saying in a low, fervent voice, “stay close to me. We do this together.”

Lena squeezed back. “Together,” she agreed. A steely resolve glinted in Lena’s green eyes, tempering the softness there. Kara recognized that look—Lena was resolved, fear walled away behind purpose. It was the same expression Lena wore before walking into high-stakes board meetings or unveiling new tech to the world. Now she would carry it into a very different kind of battle.

They reluctantly disentangled from the warmth of the bed, the chill of the morning air hitting their bare skin and reminding them of the practicalities ahead. Kara moved around the small room with practiced efficiency, retrieving their clothes from where they’d been hastily shed and discarded the night before. She handed Lena a fresh change—a dark turtleneck and sturdy jeans from Kara’s overnight bag. “Something easy to move in,” Kara suggested. She herself pulled on her black tactical trousers and the fitted charcoal sweater she’d packed. The outfit was plain and unremarkable—neutral tones, flexible fabric, nothing that would catch the eye. Kara tied her hair back into a low ponytail, out of her face. In the mirror above the dresser, her reflection gazed back with steady blue eyes that held a spark of grim determination.

Behind her, Lena finished dressing, carefully maneuvering her injured arm through a coat sleeve. Kara stepped over to assist, lifting the collar of Lena’s coat gently up and over the bandage so as not to snag it. “Thanks,” Lena murmured. She took a bracing breath and surveyed the room, checking they hadn’t left anything important. Her gaze fell on the desk where a manila folder sat neatly – the compilation of evidence they’d prepared on Edge’s dealings, along with the flash drive of digital files. She picked it up and slid it into her leather tote.

Kara double-checked the contents of her rucksack: flashlight, first aid kit, spare ammo, the slim laptop, a coil of nylon rope, and a few zip-tie restraints—just in case. Her handgun lay holstered on the bed; she lifted it and did a quick safety check by habit, the motions smooth and familiar. When she glanced up, she found Lena watching her, eyes tracking the efficient way Kara handled the weapon. There was no fear in Lena’s expression, only a sober acceptance.

“Ready?” Kara asked softly as she secured the holster at the small of her back, hidden under her jacket.

Lena nodded. “Ready.”

They left the room in silence, locking the door behind them, and padded down the narrow staircase to the side exit of the inn. The lobby was still empty at this hour; the receptionist from the night before had been replaced by silence and a faint scent of coffee from somewhere behind the closed office door. Outside, the early morning air was crisp and damp. A low mist clung to the ground, swathing the parking lot in gray. Their rented Jeep sat where they’d left it, dew pearling on the windshield.

Kara scanned the surroundings automatically—an old habit she’d never lost. The street beyond the inn was quiet, no sign of any vehicles trailing them or suspicious figures lurking. Still, she kept Lena close as they walked to the Jeep, her senses on high alert even in the stillness. She couldn’t shake the feeling that every extra second Lena was exposed was an opportunity for danger to find them. Paranoia won’t help her, Kara chided herself as she loaded their gear into the backseat. Focus.

They climbed in, and as Kara turned the key in the ignition, Lena unfolded a paper map in her lap. GPS was an unnecessary risk—they’d decided to keep all electronics off or offline on the way to the site, just in case Edge’s people were monitoring digital signals. The engine rumbled to life, and Kara guided the Jeep out onto the empty road.

“Inverness Harbor is east of the city center,” Lena said quietly, tracing the route with her finger. “The storage facility should be here, on the outskirts by the water.” The warehouse was part of a small industrial port area—a cluster of depots and lots near a shipping pier, according to the records they’d found.

Kara nodded, eyes flicking between the road and the map. The tires hissed over damp asphalt as they wound through sleepy pre-dawn streets. “We’ll park a few blocks away, approach on foot,” she said. “Minimize chance of anyone hearing or seeing the car.”

They fell into a tense but companionable silence as Kara navigated through Inverness’s waking outskirts. Past quaint stone houses and dark storefronts, toward the less scenic industrial stretch by the water. The sky slowly lightened to a pale pewter, clouds hanging low. Neither had eaten more than a protein bar since the previous afternoon, but adrenaline and nerves served as fuel enough for now. Kara’s mind was already in mission mode, running through contingencies, entry points, and exit strategies. Beside her, Lena clutched the strap of her tote, her face drawn but determined as she gazed out the window at the fog rolling off the Moray Firth.

Kara pulled the Jeep into a quiet side street about half a kilometer from their destination. She killed the headlights and engine. The clank of distant buoy bells and the cry of a lone gull broke the silence as she stepped out. Lena joined her, tightening her coat around herself against the morning chill. The tang of saltwater and oil filled the air here.

They shared a look in the dim light. “This is it,” Kara whispered. Lena exhaled and nodded. Together, they started toward the warehouse on foot, keeping to the shadows along a chain-link fence that bordered the port district.

The facility came into view as they crept closer: a rectangular warehouse with corrugated metal walls, flanked by a loading dock and a gravel lot. A faded sign on the fence read “S&K Storage – Authorized Personnel Only.” Through the mist, Kara noted a black SUV parked near the side entrance and two smaller vans nearer to the loading bay. No other vehicles at this hour. That could mean minimal staff on site—good for stealth, though there was no telling how many might be inside preparing for the day’s work. Dim light shone from a few high windows, suggesting that at least some power was on inside.

Kara crouched behind a stack of wooden shipping pallets at the perimeter fence, Lena right beside her. They took a moment to listen. Somewhere inside the warehouse, a muffled clang echoed—metal on concrete. It sounded like someone moving equipment. Kara held up two fingers to Lena and pointed at the building, then mimed a walking motion with her fingers. Lena understood: at least two people inside, maybe moving around.

Carefully, Kara scanned the exterior for any cameras or security systems. She spotted one CCTV camera mounted above the loading dock door, its red light steady—active. The side entrance by the SUV didn’t have an obvious camera, but likely the main points did. “Camera there,” Kara breathed, leaning to Lena’s ear and pointing. “We’ll avoid that side. Let’s circle to the back.”

They hugged the fence line, moving slowly. Kara led, her body positioned slightly ahead of Lena’s, instinctively shielding her as they navigated around to the rear of the warehouse. The early hour and fog worked in their favor; visibility was poor for any lookouts, and most of the surrounding facilities seemed lifeless at this time.

At the back of the building, they found a locked service door and a couple of narrow windows about ten feet up. No vehicles or people here. Kara tested the service door handle gently—solid and definitely locked. She set down her pack and withdrew a small roll of tools. Lena stood watch, glancing nervously up and down the length of the fence, while Kara selected two slender lockpicks from the kit. With deft hands, she inserted them into the old cylinder lock. It was a basic mechanism, nothing like the high-tech security at L-Corp’s labs or even a modern office—just a heavy deadbolt likely meant to discourage casual intruders.

Within thirty seconds, she felt a satisfying click. The bolt gave way. Kara paused, listening hard for any indication the sound had been heard. Nothing beyond the same distant clanging and a low hum, perhaps a generator or heating unit inside. She gently eased the door open a crack. A waft of cool, stale air met them, tinged with the smell of metal and sawdust.

Kara glanced back at Lena and nodded. Lena drew a steadying breath and followed Kara as she slipped inside, silent as a shadow.

Inside, the cavernous warehouse was dimly lit by a few overhead fluorescents casting a sickly yellow glow. Shadows pooled between towering shelves and stacks of crates. Kara and Lena stood still just inside the door, allowing their eyes to adjust. The space was cooler than outside, and eerily quiet save for a faint electrical hum and the occasional clank reverberating from somewhere toward the front.

Kara pointed two fingers at her eyes then gestured outwards—stay alert. Lena gave a tight nod, clutching her tote close. They moved forward into the gloom, Kara leading with careful, balanced steps to avoid making noise. The concrete floor was littered with wooden pallets, coiled cables, and a few tarps—potential tripping hazards in low light. Kara skirted them deftly, one hand hovering near her holstered gun.

As they advanced down an aisle between tall metal shelving units, shapes of stored equipment emerged in the patchy light. Wooden crates stamped with shipping labels, large cylindrical tanks secured with straps, and what looked like components of industrial machinery covered in tarp. Kara’s nose caught a chemical tang—perhaps fuel or solvent. This wasn’t just an empty depot; it was an active staging ground.

About twenty yards in, a faint glow became visible off to the right: the frosted glass window of a small enclosed office built against the wall. It was the likely source of the light they’d seen outside. Kara held up a hand to pause Lena, then crept closer to the office, ears straining. Through the glass, a silhouette moved—a single person, pacing slowly. No voices, just the scrape of a chair and rustle of papers.

Kara leaned back to Lena’s ear, her lips close to barely emit a sound. “One in the office,” she breathed. Lena’s brow furrowed and she mouthed, We need the computer. Kara understood; that office probably housed records, possibly the depot’s computer system. If they could get in quietly and neutralize whoever was inside, they might retrieve the evidence quickly.

She gestured for Lena to wait by the shelf corner, out of sight of the office window. Lena pressed herself against the metal rack, tense but composed. Kara then moved with cat-like silence around to the office door. It was slightly ajar, light seeping through the crack. From this angle she could peer in: a single worker in coveralls stood with his back turned, fiddling with a stack of documents on a table. A mug of something—coffee, likely—steamed next to a laptop that was open on a desk. The man appeared to be middle-aged, burly, not visibly armed. Possibly a foreman or technician rather than security.

Kara saw her chance. In one fluid motion, she slipped through the door and glided up behind the man. Before he could sense her presence, she struck—an arm looped firmly around his neck while her other hand clamped over his mouth. He gave a muffled yelp of alarm and reflexively grabbed at her arm, but Kara held tight, applying precise pressure to cut off blood flow just enough. He thrashed for a few seconds, boots scuffing on the concrete floor, knocking the mug off the table with a crash. Kara winced at the noise but maintained the chokehold. Within moments, the man’s struggles weakened; his eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Kara eased him silently to the floor, checking that he was merely unconscious, not dead. Satisfied with the slow rise of his chest—still breathing—she dragged his heavy form out of immediate view, propping him against the wall beneath the table.

Heart pounding, Kara poked her head back out the office door and signaled to Lena with a sharp wave. Lena hurried over, slipping inside the office with wide eyes that darted to the slumped figure on the floor. Kara closed the office door most of the way, leaving it open just a crack so they could hear what was happening outside but remain unseen.

Lena wasted no time. She set her tote down and pulled out the flash drive. Crossing to the desk, she woke the laptop from its idle state. A login screen greeted her with a demand for a password. Lena’s fingers flew over the keys. “Let’s see…” she murmured under her breath. This system might not have top-tier encryption if it was just a local depot records computer. With quick keystrokes, she tried a few common override commands. The third attempt rewarded her with a bypass prompt. Lena flashed a small triumphant smirk and plugged in her flash drive, launching a custom script to dump the relevant data. Lines of code and file paths reflected in her intent eyes.

Kara stood guard by the door, listening intently. The clatter of the mug earlier had echoed. If anyone else was nearby, they might investigate. She strained to pick up any hint of approaching footsteps or raised voices. For the moment, the warehouse beyond remained still. Perhaps any workers in the main area hadn’t heard over whatever task they were doing.

“Someone’s been busy,” Lena whispered from the desk. Her eyes scanned the screen as files scrolled by. “Transaction records, inventory logs… and something labeled ‘Project Theta – Ops Plan.’” Her tone tightened with anger at that, but she kept focused.

Kara glanced over her shoulder. “Can you copy it all?” she murmured.

“Working on it,” Lena replied. The progress bar on her script inched forward. “This should vacuum up anything mentioning Theta or L-Corp.”

Kara returned her attention to the door. In the distance, she suddenly heard a new noise beyond the office walls: the rumble of an engine outside, then the slam of a vehicle door. Voices, faintly audible through the metal siding of the warehouse. Someone had arrived.

Kara’s muscles coiled. She peered through the crack of the door into the dim aisle. From her vantage, she could see part of the main entrance and loading bay at the far end. The large rolling door was closed, but a smaller side door creaked open, letting in a slice of morning light. Two figures stepped inside. Even at a distance, Kara recognized one of them from photos and videos: the confident stride, the expensive overcoat — Morgan Edge.

Her pulse kicked at the sight of him. He was here in the flesh, striding into the warehouse as if he owned the world. In a sense, he did own this little corner of it. The other figure with him looked like a security escort, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, scanning the interior as he followed Edge inside.

Kara leaned back and whispered urgently to Lena, “Edge is here.” She saw Lena stiffen, her fingers pausing on the keyboard for an instant. A flash of apprehension and fury crossed Lena’s face. Kara gently placed a hand on Lena’s back, grounding her. “Stay calm. Almost done?”

Lena swallowed and nodded, refocusing on the screen. The script had finished running. “Got it. Everything relevant,” she breathed, yanking the flash drive out and slipping it into her pocket. She also snatched a few papers that lay on the desk — shipping manifests and a handwritten log sheet — tucking them into her tote as potential evidence.

Voices echoed from the open space beyond the office. Edge was speaking now, his tone clipped and business-like, carrying a timbre of authority that sent a shiver of anger through Kara’s veins.

“—no, we’ll move up the timetable,” he was saying. His footsteps rang on the concrete as he walked further in. “We’ve spent enough time. I want this finished.”

Another voice answered, likely one of his men already present. “Everything’s nearly set, sir. We were just finalizing the payload calibrations.”

Kara caught a glimpse through the crack: Edge had stopped near a cluster of equipment on the warehouse floor, not far from the aisle where she and Lena had come. Two additional men emerged from between stacks of crates to meet him—probably the source of the clanging earlier. They stood around Edge now, four of them in total (Edge and three henchmen), within a dozen yards of the office where Kara and Lena hid.

Inside the office, Lena quietly closed the laptop and pocketed a stray USB dongle that might be useful. Kara’s mind raced. They had what they came for—proof of Edge’s operation. They could try to slip back out the way they entered while Edge was distracted. But a part of her rebelled at the thought of letting him walk free even a minute longer. He was here, within reach. If they could incapacitate him and capture him on the spot, this could end now.

She glanced at Lena. Lena’s eyes were fixed on the crack in the door, her jaw set as she too listened to Edge’s voice. Kara saw fury simmering beneath her composure—Lena’s hands had curled into fists at her sides. This was the man who had tried to destroy her life’s work and nearly killed her. Lena had every reason to want him brought down today.

“...faster than planned,” Edge was saying, an edge of impatience in his tone. “There’s been a development. Luthor has vanished from London—my sources lost track of her yesterday, which means she suspects something. We can’t assume she’s idle. The demonstration at Theta might be scrapped if she panics, and I won’t lose that opportunity. We hit the site tomorrow night at the latest, whether she shows up or not.”

Kara’s blood ran cold at his words. If they hadn’t found this out, Lena’s project site would have been attacked even sooner than expected. He was accelerating his plans out of fear Lena was onto him. And he was right—Lena was onto him, and right here under his nose.

Lena moved closer to Kara, and in the dim office light, Kara saw the flash of triumph in Lena’s eyes. They now had confirmation straight from Edge’s mouth of his intent to sabotage Project Theta. If only they could record—

Suddenly, the door of the office rattled. Both women froze. Someone had tried to open it and found it blocked by the weight of the unconscious worker’s leg against it. A grunt of confusion sounded.

“Oi, Frank?” called a voice from the other side. One of Edge’s men, perhaps having noticed the office occupant hadn’t shown himself. Kara’s heart leapt into her throat. The unconscious man—Frank—was in the way, alerting them something was wrong.

Kara reacted instantly. She threw the door open before the man behind it could react. He stumbled forward from the sudden lack of resistance, practically falling into the office. It was one of the workmen, a younger guy in a flannel shirt. His eyes went wide as he registered Kara and Lena inside where they shouldn’t be. Kara struck fast—a sharp jab to his temple with the butt of her pistol. He crumpled to the ground atop his unfortunate colleague.

But the commotion had drawn attention. “What the—!” another voice shouted from the warehouse floor.

Realizing stealth was lost, Kara sprang through the doorway, gun raised. “Stay down!” she barked at Lena, who crouched behind the doorway, clutching her tote and the evidence close.

Out in the open space, the reaction was chaos. Edge and his remaining two henchmen turned toward the office. They spotted Kara immediately—an armed woman emerging from the shadows.

Kara had her pistol trained on the closest man, the shaved-head guard who had come in with Edge. “Hands where I can see them!” she ordered, voice ringing with authority. For a split second, surprise held them still; they hadn’t expected an intruder, much less a woman with an American accent commanding them.

Morgan Edge’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Even in this tense moment, Kara noted how his lip curled with disdain rather than fear. “Well, well,” Edge drawled, recovering his composure with alarming speed. “Looks like we have a little mouse in the pantry.”

The guard with the shaved head moved to draw his firearm, but Kara was quicker. “Don’t,” she said icily, shifting her aim to him squarely. “I will shoot.” Her stance was rock-steady, finger on the trigger. She had the drop on them—for the moment.

Edge lifted a hand slightly, a gesture for his men to comply for now. The guard hesitated, then slowly let his hand drift away from his jacket where a gun no doubt rested. The second henchman, a wiry fellow near Edge’s other side, looked unsure, his eyes flicking to his boss.

Behind Kara, Lena emerged cautiously from the office doorway, taking cover behind a metal support pillar. Kara could see her out of the corner of her eye. Lena had one hand inside her tote—likely gripping the folder of evidence—and her phone in the other, as if she might call for help or record. Kara prayed she had it set to record already, capturing Edge’s incriminating words.

Edge’s gaze shifted and landed on Lena. Even in the low light, recognition flared in his eyes. “Lena Luthor,” he said with a cold smile that didn’t reach those eyes. “You have a talent for showing up where you’re not wanted.”

Lena stepped forward half a pace from the shadows, keeping behind the pillar. Her chin was raised defiantly. “And you have a talent for treachery,” she replied, her voice remarkably steady given the circumstances. “The game’s up, Edge. We know everything.”

Edge chuckled, a rich, patronizing sound. “Do you? What exactly do you think you know, my dear?” He spoke casually, but his body was taut with contained tension—a predator coiled to strike. His two men were slowly spreading out a step or two, likely trying to find angles on Kara.

Kara pivoted slightly to ensure her aim could cover both henchmen. “Stay where you are!” she snapped, jerking the pistol in warning when the wiry man sidled a half-step. He froze.

Lena drew in a sharp breath and answered Edge, voice cutting through the gloom. “We know it was you funding S&K Ventures. You who orchestrated the threats, the break-in at my lab, the kidnapping.” Her words trembled only slightly with anger. “All of it, to stop my reactor project.”

Edge’s smirk hardened into something uglier. “If you’re hoping for a confession, you’ll be disappointed.” He cast a glance at Kara, sizing her up. “And who might you be? Another one of Jack’s little hired guns?” His tone dripped with condescension.

Kara’s jaw clenched. He didn’t recognize her specifically, it seemed. She decided not to enlighten him. “The person who’s going to put you away,” she answered flatly. “Drop any weapons and lie down, Edge. It’s over.”

Edge laughed outright at that, the sound echoing off the metal walls. “Over? Hardly. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? I could buy and sell your life a hundred times over.”

“Money won’t save you today,” Lena interjected. Her green eyes blazed as she stepped fully into view now, no longer content to hide behind the pillar. She ignored Kara’s quick, worried glance. “We have evidence, Edge. Everything. This warehouse, your supplies, your emails, your voice just now talking about attacking my project. It’s all recorded.”

It was a bluff—they hadn’t recorded his voice, though they did have the files—but Lena delivered it with such conviction that even Kara almost believed it. Kara didn’t dare break facade by confirming or denying. Instead, she used the moment Edge’s confidence faltered to step further forward, forcing the two henchmen to edge back.

Edge’s expression flickered with uncertainty, but he masked it with a sneer. “You always were clever, Lena. But you’ve made a grave mistake coming here.” His eyes flicked to the unconscious forms in the office. “And with so little backup. Is it just you and this woman? Jack must be getting stingy.”

Kara pressed her advantage, moving another step. She was now within ten feet of Edge and his men. If she got just a bit closer—

Suddenly, the situation shattered. The guard with the shaved head decided to gamble: his hand flashed to his shoulder holster and he drew his pistol in one swift motion, firing at Kara.

Kara had anticipated a possible move. She dove aside a split-second before the muzzle flash, the gunshot roaring through the warehouse. The round whizzed past her ear, slamming into the office doorframe with a burst of splinters.

Chaos erupted. Kara rolled and came up on one knee behind a stack of crates, returning fire at the guard. Her bullet caught him in the shoulder; he cried out and fell back behind a forklift for cover. The other henchman pulled out a handgun as well, firing wildly in Lena’s direction. Lena yelped and ducked behind the pillar as sparks flew from a ricochet off the metal.

“Lena, get down!” Kara shouted, panic lancing through her at the thought of Lena in the open. She popped up from cover and squeezed off two shots at the wiry henchman to keep him occupied. He scrambled behind a crate, the shots missing but forcing him to retreat.

Edge himself had dropped to a crouch behind an equipment trolley, surprisingly nimble for a man in an expensive coat. Kara could see him fumbling inside his coat—likely for a weapon of his own.

There was no time to think of anything but survival and protecting Lena. Kara moved with lethal grace, darting from her cover toward the pillar Lena hid behind. She slid in next to Lena, pressing her back to the concrete support. Lena’s breath was ragged but she clutched the evidence tote tightly to her chest with one arm, her other hand braced on the ground. Kara noticed with alarm a dark red streak along Lena’s left bicep, just below the bandage—the graze of a bullet or shrapnel reopening her wound. Lena followed Kara’s gaze and shook her head quickly. “I’m okay,” she panted, though pain flashed across her face.

Kara’s mind raced. Three enemies: one injured, one pinned, and Edge possibly armed. If she could take out the mobile one, the fight would tilt in their favor. She touched Lena’s shoulder. “Stay here, keep your head down. I’ll draw them away.”

Lena’s eyes went wide with fear. “Kara—” she began, reaching as if to hold her back.

But Kara mustered a reassuring half-smile. “Trust me.” In a blur, she pivoted away from the pillar, sprinting low along a row of metal drums. Immediately, gunfire erupted again as the uninjured henchman spotted her movement and fired. Bullets pinged off the drums with metallic pings. Kara kept moving, weaving between pallets, forcing the shooter to adjust and giving Lena a precious few seconds out of the line of fire.

The warehouse rang with the echoes of the firefight—gunshots, the crash of stray rounds smashing into containers, the hiss of something sparking where a bullet hit an electrical box. In the melee, a stack of crates was struck, toppling down with a thunderous crash that sent dust billowing.

Kara circled around to flank the wiry gunman. She caught a glimpse of him crouched behind a crate, reloading. She took the opportunity—lunging out from behind a machinery stack, she trained her pistol on him and fired. The shot struck true in his thigh. He howled, collapsing onto one knee. His pistol clattered from his hand as he grabbed his leg.

Before Kara could breathe, a new shot cracked—a deafening roar that was different from the smaller handguns. Wood exploded near Kara’s shoulder, splinters slicing her cheek. Edge had produced a shotgun from somewhere—likely stashed on that equipment cart—and fired at her.

Kara ducked behind the nearest cover—a metal toolbox on wheels. The shotgun blast left her ears ringing. Edge pumped the shotgun with a menacing k-chak, and Kara heard his voice snarl, “You think you can ruin me? I ruin you!” Another boom and buckshot peppered the other side of the toolbox, punching holes in the metal. Kara kept low. One pellet seared across her upper arm like a red-hot needle, tearing a line through her sleeve. She gritted her teeth against the burn.

She had to take Edge out quickly—he was indiscriminately firing, and if Lena got hit… Kara wouldn’t let that happen.

From her position, Kara saw the guard with the wounded shoulder trying to get up again, his pistol shaky in his hand as he aimed at her. Too many threats at once. Before he could shoot, a sudden crack echoed from across the aisle. The man jerked and fell — Lena stood partly out of cover, arm extended. In her grasp was the unconscious guard’s handgun, which she must have picked up from the office. Lena’s stance was unpracticed but steady enough; she’d shot the guard in the side to protect Kara.

Kara felt a fierce surge of both relief and worry. Lena had just likely shot someone for the first time, but her face was a mask of resolve, jaw clenched.

There was no time to check on Lena further. Edge racked another shell. Kara moved swiftly, vaulting over the toolbox and rushing at Edge’s position before he could fire again. He caught sight of her and swung the shotgun toward her mid-sprint. At the last second Kara dropped into a slide on the slick concrete. The shotgun boomed overhead, pellets shredding the air where she’d been. Sliding right up to Edge’s legs, Kara kicked out hard. Her boot connected with his knee. He shouted in pain as his leg buckled, and the shotgun went skittering out of his grasp.

Kara sprang up and threw a punch across Edge’s face, years of pent-up rage behind the blow. His head snapped to the side, lip splitting as he stumbled. She grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed him back against a support column. “This is for everything,” she growled, drawing back to hit him again.

But Edge was not entirely defenseless. Desperate, he jammed a taser or stun device — pulled from his coat — against Kara’s side. Electricity jolted through her abdomen. Kara cried out as pain arced up her nerves, her muscles seizing for an instant. She fell back, and Edge, face bloody and twisted with hate, lunged forward.

He barreled into Kara with surprising force, driving them both toward a stack of crates. They hit hard; Kara’s back struck wood and the breath blasted from her lungs. Stars danced at the edges of her vision. Edge drew back a fist and punched her across the cheek. Pain burst in Kara’s head, but she shook it off, reacting on instinct. She caught his second swing, grappling with him fiercely. For a man who likely spent more time in boardrooms than bar fights, Edge fought with the ferocity of sheer desperation.

They struggled, boots scuffling for purchase. Edge managed to shove Kara off-balance. She tripped over a loose piece of crate and both went down in a heap, Kara landing on her back and Edge partially atop her, reaching inside his coat. With a lizard-like grin of triumph, he produced a small pistol — his last resort.

Time slowed to a syrupy crawl as Kara realized the gun was now aimed not at her, but past her — toward Lena. Lena had left her pillar cover and was limping toward them, concern etched on her face as she saw Kara fall. She froze as Edge twisted, using Kara’s body as partial shield while he took aim at Lena standing a short distance away.

“No!” Kara shouted, her voice raw. Lena, unarmed now (the pistol she had fired lay somewhere behind), could only stare, caught out in the open.

Edge’s finger tightened on the trigger, malice gleaming in his eyes. In that split second, Kara did the only thing she could. Summoning every ounce of strength, she wrenched herself up and threw her body in front of Lena.

Kara threw herself between Lena and Edge in the same heartbeat that he pulled the trigger.

For Lena, time seemed to shatter with the muzzle flash. One moment Kara was upright, blue eyes blazing with resolve; the next, a gunshot cracked like thunder, and Kara jerked violently as the bullet struck.

“Kara!” Lena screamed, her voice tearing from her throat. She watched in horror as Kara spun halfway from the impact and crumpled to the concrete floor. Blood misted in the air and then Lena saw it soaking into Kara’s shoulder, a dark red bloom spreading across her sleeve.

“No, no, no...” Lena gasped, scrambling forward. Kara had landed on her hands and knees, but then collapsed onto her side, her face contorted in pain. She wasn’t moving to get up. A chill colder than Arctic ice seized Lena’s heart. Kara had taken the bullet meant for her. Kara was down.

A feral rage unlike anything Lena had ever known ignited inside her. Fear and fury blurred her vision at the edges, but at the center was a singular focus: Edge. He was still standing fifteen feet away, pistol raised, aiming to shoot again—at Kara, who lay defenseless.

Something in Lena snapped. She snatched up a jagged length of metal debris from the broken crate at her feet—heavy and solid in her trembling grip. With a raw, wordless cry, Lena launched herself at Morgan Edge.

Edge barely had time to register the dark-haired woman charging at him before Lena swung the metal bar with every ounce of strength and anguish she possessed. Crack! The improvised weapon slammed into Edge’s forearm just as he fired a second shot wildly into the ground. Bone gave way with a sickening crunch. Edge bellowed in pain; the handgun flew from his hand, skittering into the shadows.

“Don’t you touch her!” Lena screamed, voice breaking on a sob of wrath as she raised the pipe again. Her injured arm howled in protest, the bandaged wound tearing open anew, but Lena didn’t care. All she saw was Edge—the man who had tried to kill Kara, who had tried to kill them both—and a desperate desire to make sure he never hurt anyone again.

Edge recoiled, clutching his shattered arm to his chest. Shock and disbelief widened his eyes as he stared at Lena Luthor advancing on him, armed and furious. He had likely never imagined her capable of violence. In truth, Lena had never imagined it of herself either, but for Kara she would cross any line. Fear and adrenaline battled within her; the metal bar felt alien and heavy in her hands, trembling now that the initial strike had passed. She wanted to swing again, to knock him out, but a voice in her head—perhaps Kara’s—whispered that killing him wasn’t necessary. He needed to face justice, not her vengeance.

Edge saw her hesitation. With a snarl, he spun on his heel and bolted, choosing flight over fighting a woman possessed. He clutched his injured arm and ran toward the nearest exit, his coat flapping behind him.

“No!” Lena cried, throwing aside the pipe. She lunged after him, determined he would not escape. But her limbs felt sluggish with exhaustion and pain; her left arm was dripping blood down her sleeve, and a dizziness pulled at the edges of her vision. Edge was getting away, heading for the shadows near the side door.

Before Lena could push her body to close the distance, a dark form hurtled out of nowhere and slammed into Edge from behind.

Kara.

Despite the gunshot wound, Kara had risen in a last burst of will. With a guttural shout, Kara tackled Edge to the ground. They hit the concrete hard, Edge breaking Kara’s fall with his body. Lena skidded to a stop, heart in her throat as relief and amazement flooded her. Kara was on her feet—barely, blood-soaked and unsteady, but alive and fighting.

Edge struggled, swearing viciously, but Kara pinned him with her knee between his shoulder blades. Using her good arm, Kara wrenched his uninjured arm behind his back in a swift, practiced motion. Edge bucked and writhed, but he was weakened and no match for Kara’s strength and trained technique.

Lena approached cautiously, chest heaving. She grabbed the fallen handgun off the ground with shaking fingers and held it trained on Edge, just in case he broke free. But it wasn’t needed—Kara already had a zip-tie from her belt looped around his wrists, cinching it tight with a brutal yank. Morgan Edge was securely bound and utterly defeated.

“Don’t move,” Kara growled down at him, her voice like steel despite how labored her breathing had become.

A heavy silence descended in the warehouse, broken only by Edge’s pained panting and the distant drip of some leaking fluid. Lena stood a few paces away, arms trembling as she kept the gun aimed at Edge’s prone form. Adrenaline still pounded in her veins, but the sight of Edge subdued under Kara’s knee released some of the awful tension inside her. It was over. He was down. They had won.

“Lena...” Kara’s voice, hoarse and strained, cut through the quiet. “It’s okay, he’s done.” Kara lifted her head to look at Lena, and in that moment Lena realized she was still pointing the gun at Edge with white-knuckled intensity. Gently, Kara said, “You can put it down now.”

Only then did Lena notice how her own hands shook around the firearm’s grip, her finger far too close to the trigger. She sucked in a sharp breath and lowered the pistol at once, flicking the safety on with clumsy hands and tossing it aside. Her entire body began to quake as the adrenaline high ebbed.

It was over—but Kara was hurt.

Lena rushed to Kara’s side and finally allowed herself to drop to her knees. Kara was still straddling Edge’s back, but Lena could see the way Kara’s face had gone ashen, sweat beading on her brow. With Edge restrained, Kara swayed, her strength beginning to falter. Lena gently touched her uninjured shoulder. “Kara... you’re shot,” she managed, voice choked. “Let me help you. Please.”

Kara’s weight slumped off of Edge and Lena guided her down to sit against a nearby crate. With frantic motions, Lena shrugged off her own coat. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. She balled it up and pressed it firmly to the bleeding wound on Kara’s shoulder. Kara hissed in pain, her body jerking at the pressure, and Lena’s vision blurred with tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” Lena chanted, though whether she was apologizing for causing pain or for every terrible thing that had led to this moment, she couldn’t be sure.

“Kara, stay with me,” Lena begged, one hand applying pressure, the other cupping Kara’s cheek. Kara’s skin felt cold and clammy beneath the sheen of perspiration. There was so much blood. Too much. It wet Lena’s fingers and soaked into her coat, a stark crimson against the black fabric. Lena’s heart hammered wildly, terrified that at any second Kara’s eyes might slip shut and… No. She refused to even think it.

Kara’s eyelids fluttered and she focused on Lena’s face, drawn by her voice. “I’m okay,” Kara rasped, though her voice was weak and thready. “It’s... it’s through-and-through. No major damage.”

Lena choked on a hysterical laugh of disbelief. Kara was trying to reassure her, when Kara was the one with a bullet hole through her body. “Don’t talk,” Lena pleaded softly. “Save your strength.”

A commotion of sirens and shouting voices began to filter in from outside. The authorities—someone must have heard the gunfire. It barely registered for Lena. Her entire world had narrowed to the woman in her arms.

Kara managed a faint smile, though her lips were tinged with blue. “Lena… look at me,” she whispered. Lena obeyed, blinking tears from her eyes. Kara’s gaze was pained but steady. “If it means keeping you safe, I’d take a hundred more. Without a second thought.”

Lena’s breath caught. A broken sound escaped her, half a sob, half a disbelieving laugh. “You… you absolute idiot,” she whispered, voice shaking. A tear slipped down her cheek and splashed onto Kara’s collar. “Why would you do that? You could have been killed!”

Kara’s uninjured hand fumbled for Lena’s, gripping it with what little strength she had. “You know why,” Kara murmured, barely audible over the distant thump of approaching boots. Her eyes brimmed with unwavering love and devotion that stole Lena’s breath.

Fresh tears blurred Lena’s vision. Of course she knew why. Kara loved her—so much that she’d nearly given her life. Lena pressed her forehead to Kara’s, closing her eyes for an instant. “I can’t lose you,” she whispered raggedly. “Not now, not ever.”

“Shh,” Kara soothed, though her voice was growing faint. “You won’t. I’m right here.”

The pounding of footsteps drew nearer. “Police! Drop your weapons!” a voice echoed through the warehouse. Only then did Lena remember Edge’s remaining henchmen and the chaos around them. She saw a pair of uniformed officers sweep in, guns raised.

“It’s alright!” Lena shouted, raising one bloody hand in a gesture of surrender while still cradling Kara with the other. “He’s restrained—over here! Please, we need an ambulance!” Her plea ended in a near-sob as adrenaline gave way to desperation.

Two officers rushed toward them. One kept his weapon trained on Edge’s prone, bound form, while the other knelt beside Kara, immediately assessing the situation. His eyes widened at the sight of Morgan Edge himself on the ground. “Dispatch, we have Morgan Edge in custody, multiple injured,” he spoke into his radio.

Lena hardly heard him. She refused to move aside until paramedics arrived moments later with a stretcher. Strong but gentle hands guided her back, finally relieving her of the task of holding Kara’s wound closed. Lena’s blood-soaked coat was peeled away and replaced with proper bandages. Lena hovered anxiously, watching the medics work and explaining in terse, trembling words that the bullet had passed through. She only relaxed a fraction when one EMT gave her a small nod and a reassuring comment that Kara was stabilizing.

Nearby, other officers hauled Edge up and dragged him toward a police car outside. Lena caught a glimpse of his face as they passed—the blazing fury in his eyes now mixed with defeat and the haze of pain. He glared at her, at Kara, but said nothing. Lena mustered a glare of her own, her lip curling in disgust. Morgan Edge was done. Handcuffed and bleeding, he was being delivered to the justice he so richly deserved.

All of Lena’s anger melted back into concern as she turned to see the paramedics loading Kara onto the gurney. Kara protested weakly, trying to turn her head toward Lena even as they lifted her. “Lena...” she mumbled, reaching out.

“I’m here,” Lena said instantly, moving to grasp Kara’s hand. Her grip was sure and warm despite the blood crusted on her fingers. “I’m right here, love.”

They wheeled Kara toward the waiting ambulance, and Lena never let go of her hand, jogging alongside. Blue and red lights strobed across Kara’s pale face. Lena realized with a start that her own arm was bleeding freely from where her earlier wound had torn open; a medic attempted to check it, but Lena shook her head fiercely. “I’m fine,” she snapped, perhaps more harshly than intended. “See to her first.” Nothing mattered except Kara.

Within minutes, they were at the ambulance. The paramedics prepared to lift Kara inside. Lena was about to follow when a uniformed officer gently caught her elbow. “Ma’am, you’re injured too. Let us—”

“No,” Lena interrupted, wrenching free more forcefully than necessary. She climbed into the ambulance right behind the medics, her eyes never leaving Kara. “I’m going with her.”

The officer hesitated, then nodded, stepping back. Lena knelt beside the stretcher as the ambulance doors swung shut, enclosing them in a wail of sirens and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Kara’s eyes were closed, her face slack with either unconsciousness or exhaustion. For one terrible second, Lena thought she had lost consciousness entirely. Her heart lurched. But then she felt Kara’s fingers twitch in her grasp and saw her eyelashes flutter. Relief surged so strongly that Lena had to suppress a sob.

As the ambulance pulled away from the warehouse, Lena squeezed Kara’s hand and whispered fiercely, “You’re going to be okay. Just hold on a little longer.” She brushed damp strands of hair from Kara’s forehead, her touch feather-light and tender. In a wavering voice, she continued, “It’s over, Kara. Edge is finished. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

Somewhere beneath the layers of pain and medication, Kara must have heard her. Lena saw the faintest ghost of a smile curve on Kara’s lips. Kara’s eyes slitted open, finding Lena’s even in the dim ambulance light.

And then Kara spoke, so softly Lena had to lean down to catch it: “It’s over. He can’t hurt you... but it’s not finished.” Kara’s gaze gained a hint of that familiar resolve. “Edge might be gone, but his people are still out there...” she whispered. “The threat won’t be gone until we get every single one of them. And then... there will be others.”

Lena felt those words like a weight in her chest. She knew Kara was right—there were always more battles ahead. But as she looked into Kara’s eyes, she also saw something else: determination, yes, but also hope. Kara was alive. They were together. They had defeated the worst of it, and whatever new threats loomed, they would face them side by side.

Lena squeezed Kara’s hand, her own resolve matching her partner’s. “Then we’ll face them,” she murmured, voice steadier now. “All of them.”

Kara’s tired eyes searched Lena’s face. Whatever she found there made her finally relax, a quiet contentment softening her expression despite the pain. Lena carefully lifted Kara’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, silently vowing that they truly were in this together—now and always.

They had won this fight—together. And together, they would face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Kara pressed a fresh bandage against her shoulder, hissing softly at the sting. The inn’s small first aid kit lay open on the bedside table amid scattered gauze wrappers and antiseptic wipes. The glow of a single lamp threw gentle light across the modest hotel room, its twin beds pushed together earlier that day into one. Outside, the Highland night was ink-dark and silent, broken only by the distant hush of wind through pines. But inside these four walls, they were safe.

Lena knelt on the bed beside Kara, brow furrowed in concentration as she secured the bandage with surgical tape. Her fingers were careful and warm where they brushed Kara’s skin. Kara watched her in silence, chest tight with a tangle of emotions. Gratitude. Relief. A lingering adrenaline tremor that hadn’t yet let her fully relax. And a deep, aching affection for the woman tending her wounds — a woman who, mere hours ago, she’d nearly lost.

Kara’s eyes traced the lines of Lena’s face, the determined set of her jaw and the sheen of exhaustion under her eyes. There were faint tear tracks dried on Lena’s cheeks; Kara knew because she’d wiped them away earlier, in the chaotic minutes after Morgan Edge had been subdued and handcuffed. The memory flashed: Lena’s cry of horror as Kara had leapt between her and the gun, the impact that had knocked Kara off her feet, Lena’s trembling hands pressing down on the bleeding hole in Kara’s jacket while shouting her name. Kara blinked the image away and forced herself back to the present. She was alive. Lena was safe. Edge was in custody. That was what mattered.

“Last piece,” Lena murmured, tearing the tape with her teeth and smoothing the final strip into place. Her voice was gentler than Kara expected — steady, almost clinical, betraying none of the panic Kara had seen earlier. Only the slight tremble in Lena’s hand as she drew back betrayed her lingering distress.

Kara exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

Lena sat back on her heels, pushing a loose strand of raven hair behind her ear. “You should really be in hospital,” she said, not for the first time that evening. The admonishment was soft, edged with worry rather than anger. “Through-and-through or not, that shoulder needs proper treatment.”

“We have a doctor — Alex checked it already,” Kara replied. Her sister had done so in the aftermath, pronouncing it a clean through-shot that missed bone. “Nothing to do now but keep it clean and let it heal.”

Lena’s frown didn’t lift. She reached out reflexively when Kara shifted, as if to steady her. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m okay.” Kara covered Lena’s hand with her own, squeezing lightly. Truthfully, she was light-headed and aching, but she’d endure far worse without complaint. “I promise. It looks worse than it is.”

A soft scoff escaped Lena. She glanced at the stained bandages they’d removed — Kara’s blood had soaked through the improvised field dressing hours ago. “It looked like you were about to die in my arms,” she whispered, voice raw. Her eyes flickered up to meet Kara’s, and they shone with that same mix of fear and fury Kara had seen right after the shooting. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was?”

Kara’s chest tightened. Carefully, she lifted her good arm and cupped Lena’s cheek. Lena leaned into the touch, but her gaze held a storm of emotion. “I’m sorry,” Kara said softly. “I never wanted to put you through that.”

“I know you didn’t.” Lena covered Kara’s hand with her own, turning her face to press a kiss to Kara’s palm. A tear slipped free and trailed down Lena’s cheek, warm against Kara’s fingers. “But you did it so easily, Kara. You threw yourself in front of a bullet like — like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” Kara shook her head. Pain flared hot in her shoulder at the motion, but she ignored it. “It was you. You’re everything.”

Lena closed her eyes, another tear breaking loose. Kara caught it with her thumb, gently brushing it aside. How many times had she imagined this — the chance to comfort Lena openly, without lies between them? Yet she never wanted it to be under circumstances like this.

“Your life isn’t expendable.” Lena’s tone tried for stern, but it wavered. Her fingers curled around Kara’s, holding on tightly, as if to make sure Kara was truly here. “I didn’t ask for a human shield.”

“I know.” Kara offered a faint smile. “You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Lena’s eyes opened again. They drifted over Kara’s face, lingering on every feature as if taking inventory of each bruise, each scratch. “And still, you… you promised you’d take a hundred more bullets if necessary.” Her voice shook on the words; disbelief, anger, and gratitude warred in her tone.

Kara remembered saying that, a fierce declaration spat through gritted teeth as she lay on the warehouse floor, Lena pressing down on her wound. At the time, Kara had been running on pure adrenaline and terror for Lena’s life. Hearing it now, in Lena’s tremulous voice, made Kara flush. “I meant it,” she said quietly. “I’d do it again. Every time.”

“Don’t say that.” A note of anger flashed through Lena’s grief. She pulled back slightly, her brows knitting. “Do you think that’s what I want? To watch you get hurt over and over for my sake?”

“Of course not.” Kara’s voice was gentle. She could see how her vow unsettled Lena, perhaps even hurt her. Sacrifice came easily to Kara — too easily, Alex often said — but Lena had never asked for that kind of devotion. “I’m not trying to make you worry. I just… I need you to know how far I’m willing to go. To keep you safe.”

Lena shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Kara, I don’t need a martyr. I need you alive.” She drew a shaky breath. “We promised no more lies between us, so let’s both be honest: I can’t lose you either. Seeing you like that —” Her voice broke briefly, and she pressed her lips together, regaining control. “It made me realise I can’t go through that again. I don’t ever want to feel that helpless, watching someone I—” She stopped herself, eyes locked with Kara’s. The word remained unspoken, but Kara felt it as if it had been shouted. Someone I love.

Slowly, Kara tugged Lena closer until she was nestled against her uninjured side. Lena came willingly, resting her head on Kara’s collarbone, careful to avoid the bandaged shoulder. Kara let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. The warmth of Lena’s body against hers was the best painkiller she could ask for.

“You won’t lose me,” Kara murmured into Lena’s hair. She felt Lena’s arm snake around her waist, holding on tightly. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

For a long moment, they simply held each other. Lena’s heartbeat thudded against Kara’s ribs, gradually slowing to a calmer rhythm. Kara closed her eyes, allowing herself a rare moment of contentment in the aftermath of chaos. Edge was behind bars tonight, and in this room at least, the war was over. All that remained was them — two battered souls clinging to each other in the quiet dark.

Eventually Lena spoke, her words muffled against Kara’s shirt. “Edge is finally gone.” There was relief in her tone, but also a lingering heaviness.

Kara nodded, absentmindedly stroking Lena’s back. “He is. He’ll face justice for everything he’s done.” She hesitated, then added in a lower voice, “His people… some of them are still out there. There might be others who’ll try to continue what he started.”

She felt Lena’s body tense slightly. Lena lifted her head, meeting Kara’s gaze in the lamplight. “And you’re already thinking about the next threat.” It wasn’t a question; Lena knew her too well.

Kara offered a rueful half-smile. “Force of habit.”

A silence fell, not uncomfortable exactly, but weighty. Kara reached up to brush a strand of hair away from Lena’s face. “We can worry about all that tomorrow,” she said softly. “Right now, I’m more concerned with how you’re doing.”

Lena gave a tired laugh. “I’m not the one with a bullet wound.”

“No, you’re the one who had a very long day and nearly got shot.” Kara’s tone grew serious. “Lena, I mean it. How are you holding up?”

Lena seemed to consider the question. Her green eyes searched Kara’s face as if debating how much truth to share. Finally, she exhaled. “Tired,” she admitted. “Relieved. Still a bit… shaken, I suppose.”

“Understandable.” Kara shifted so she could press a light kiss to Lena’s forehead. The gesture came naturally, and Lena closed her eyes at the contact. “You’ve been through hell.”

“So have you,” Lena countered softly. Her fingertips ghosted over the edge of the bandage on Kara’s shoulder, a feather-light touch. “We both have.”

Kara couldn’t argue with that. Instead, she gently guided Lena to lie back with her on the pillows. “Try to rest,” she whispered. Outside, a gust of wind rattled the windowpane, but inside the room it was warm and still. “We’ll head home tomorrow. I’ll feel better once you’re back in London, away from all this.”

Lena nestled into Kara’s side, one leg tangling gently with hers under the blankets. “Home,” she echoed quietly, as if tasting the word. For so long, Kara hadn’t been sure she’d ever earn a place in Lena’s home — or her heart — again. But here they were.

Kara ran her hand soothingly up and down Lena’s back. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

She felt Lena’s lips curve in a faint smile against her shoulder. “You need sleep too, you know. Especially you.”

“In a minute,” Kara murmured. In truth, pain and adrenaline still prickled at the edges of her awareness, making true rest elusive. But she was content just to watch over Lena a little longer. It still felt astonishing that she was allowed to hold her like this — without pretense or secrets or the fear that it was all about to crumble.

Lena seemed on the verge of protest, but instead she shifted up to press a kiss to Kara’s cheek. “Wake me if you need anything. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Another shiver of wind sighed outside. Lena’s eyelids were already drifting shut, the weight of exhaustion finally winning out. Kara kept her embrace secure and her eyes open, scanning the shadows of the room out of habit. Not for threats this time, but simply to drink in this sight: Lena Luthor, safe in her arms.

Only once Lena’s breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep did Kara allow herself to close her eyes. Her shoulder throbbed dully, but she welcomed the pain — it was proof that what happened today was real and not some nightmare. She had saved Lena. Edge was defeated. They were together.

For the first time in a long time, Kara Danvers felt something like peace.

Several days later, Lena woke just after dawn to the soft grey light of a London morning filtering through her bedroom curtains. For a disorienting second, she expected to find herself alone in bed, as she had been for countless mornings before. But a slow, warm exhale against her shoulder reminded her of the new reality: Kara was curled at her side, still fast asleep.

Lena turned her head on the pillow, taking in the sight. Kara’s blonde hair was a tousled halo across the pillowcase they now shared, one arm draped loosely over Lena’s waist. Her face was relaxed in slumber, lips slightly parted, brow smooth and untroubled. Peaceful. Lena’s heart squeezed at the rarity of it. In the time since Kara had come back into her life, she had seen how haunted the other woman’s rest could be — thrashing limbs and broken murmurs, nightmares clawing at the edges of every quiet night. More than once Lena had woken to soothe Kara from some unseen terror, voice gentle in the darkness until Kara’s breathing steadied again. But last night, there had been no nightmares. No midnight jolts of fear. Kara had slept deeply through the night, safe and steady in Lena’s arms.

Lena permitted herself a small smile, careful not to move too much. She didn’t want to wake Kara — not when she clearly needed the rest. Instead, Lena eased out from under that lazy arm and slid from the bed with practised stealth. Kara barely stirred, only shifting to hug Lena’s pillow in her absence.

Standing by the bedside, Lena pulled on her silk robe against the early morning chill. She paused a moment longer to watch Kara sleep. It was still a marvel to see her here, in their home — no longer as a stranger undercover, but as a partner. Sunlight was slowly brightening the room, illuminating Kara’s features. Even bandaged and bruised, she looked serene. Lena’s gaze fell to Kara’s injured shoulder, which was bound snug beneath her t-shirt. She’d insisted Kara wear a sling during the day, but at night Kara stubbornly discarded it. Fortunately, the wound was healing well — Alex had checked it again upon their return to London and confirmed there were no signs of infection. Lena still found herself checking it as well, in quiet moments, as if to reassure herself that Kara truly was all right.

She tore her eyes away and tiptoed out into the hall. Her penthouse flat was still and dim at this hour, the central heating just kicking on with a distant hum. As she passed through the living area, Lena absently straightened a throw pillow on the sofa, then caught herself and huffed a quiet laugh. Old habits. The space was unusually tidy this morning, considering the upheaval of the past week. Then again, she had barely been home — first hiding out at Kara’s remote cabin in the countryside, then driving up to Scotland to face the fire. Life had moved at a relentless pace until two days ago, when they finally returned to London.

Now, evidence of Kara’s presence had threaded itself subtly into the once-pristine flat. A black duffel bag sat by the armchair — Kara’s few belongings still not fully unpacked. On the kitchen counter lay a spare set of car keys that Kara had dropped there last night, next to an empty coffee mug from their midnight tea. Two jackets hung on the coat rack by the door: one was Lena’s tailored wool overcoat, the other Kara’s worn brown leather jacket. The sight of those jackets side by side made Lena’s chest feel inexplicably full. This place, which had so long been meticulously her own, was now theirs. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the kitchen, Lena flicked on the electric kettle. Rain tapped lightly against the large window overlooking the city; a typical drizzly London morning was unfolding outside, sky heavy and pewter-grey. She took a moment to gaze out at the skyline — rows of Georgian terraces and the distant curve of the Thames — while the kettle began to rumble. Morgan Edge was likely sitting in a high-security holding cell right now, awaiting the formal charges that would no doubt come. Lena had received a brief call yesterday from an MI5 liaison informing her that Edge’s initial hearing was scheduled for next week, and that her testimony might be required. The thought had brought only a grim satisfaction. Edge was finally done, and he couldn’t touch her or anyone else again.

But in the quiet morning light, with the adrenaline of crisis fading, Lena felt something more complicated than simple relief. Edge’s crusade against her had upended her life for weeks — threats, paranoia, the invasion of Kara’s undercover presence, the kidnapping, all of it. It had nearly cost her not just her life, but her faith in the one person who mattered most. Now that he was gone, Lena found herself standing amid the settling dust, uncertain what came next. The company needed rebuilding; her projects needed steering back on course. And her own heart... well, that was healing too, slowly stitching itself back together with Kara’s help.

The kettle clicked off. Lena busied herself preparing two cups, pouring hot water over the tea bags. The familiar motions gave her a sense of normalcy. As she dunked the bags methodically, her tablet on the counter lit up with a soft chime — an email notification.

Lena tapped the screen, expecting a routine update or one of the hundreds of backlog messages awaiting her attention. Instead, she saw the sender’s address and froze, tea bag dangling forgotten from its string. The email was from a United Nations office.

Her eyes narrowed as she opened it. It was short and to the point, yet Lena found herself reading it twice to fully absorb the content. The UN Secretary-General’s Climate Action Team formally inviting her to join an upcoming international delegation — an advisory panel of scientists and innovators addressing climate change initiatives across Europe and beyond. They wanted her to serve as a civilian expert, to help shape global environmental policy. There was even mention of a potential special envoy position, should she be interested.

Lena set the tea bag aside and leaned against the counter, the steam of the kettle curling around her fingers. A few years ago, this invitation would have been the validation she craved. After endless battles to prove herself beyond her family name and to have L-Corp’s work taken seriously, being courted by the UN felt like a triumph. Or at least, it should have.

Yet what she predominantly felt was... conflicted.

She stared out the window at the rain-speckled glass. To accept would mean frequent travel, meetings in Geneva and New York, months of negotiations and public appearances. It was important work, certainly. The kind of high-profile platform that could amplify her impact on a global scale. Part of her was still the CEO who believed in taking every opportunity to push her mission forward.

But another part of her — the part that had been forged in crisis and tempered by heartbreak — whispered caution. This delegation wasn’t why she had fought so hard these past weeks. It wasn’t what had kept her going through sleepless nights and near-death experiences. People like Morgan Edge would no doubt continue to lurk in the shadows, undermining efforts like hers. Would sitting in conference rooms and drafting resolutions stop them? Or was her time better spent right here on the ground, working with people she trusted to actually do something?

Her gaze drifted from the rainy skyline to the faint reflection of her own face in the window. She thought of Kara — of how Kara had left everything behind and nearly gotten herself killed to protect her. Kara was a doer, not a talker. And if Lena was honest, so was she. L-Corp had always been about action, about building real solutions, not just policy. Perhaps that was what she needed to focus on now — especially with new threats still out there for them to tackle.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lena heard the soft creak of a floorboard behind her. She turned to see Kara emerging from the hallway, drawn by the scent of brewing tea.

Kara had pulled on a loose cable-knit jumper, likely borrowed from Lena’s wardrobe given the slightly short sleeves, and a pair of leggings. Her hair was still a charming mess, and her feet were bare against the hardwood floor. She moved carefully, mindful of her injured shoulder, but her smile was easy and warm when her eyes found Lena.

“Morning,” Kara said, her voice sleep-roughened and sweet. She paused by the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene — Lena in her robe, the kettle and cups, the tablet in Lena’s hand — with a soft, contented expression. “You should’ve woken me.”

Lena realised she was still holding the tablet with the open email. She clicked it off and set it aside on the counter. “Good morning. And you looked too comfortable to wake,” she replied, lifting one of the mugs. “Tea?”

Kara crossed the space between them, a curious tilt to her head. “Always.” She accepted the cup that Lena offered but kept her gaze on Lena’s face. “You’re up early. Everything okay?”

Lena forced a reassuring smile. “Yes. Habit, I suppose. There’s always something demanding my attention.” She gestured vaguely to the tablet. “Emails, news… the world never really sleeps, does it?”

Kara nodded slowly, but Lena could tell by the slight furrow in her brow that she sensed something was on Lena’s mind. Kara’s intuition was too keen to be fooled, especially now that there were no lies or walls between them. Still, Kara didn’t press immediately. Instead, she let their shoulders touch as they stood side by side in the small kitchen, sipping their morning tea in companionable quiet for a moment.

Outside, the rain picked up, tapping more insistently. Kara glanced at the window and gave a little shiver for show. “Looks nasty out. I forgot how cheerful London weather can be.”

Lena huffed a soft laugh. “It has its charms. But I was thinking we could stay in this morning. There’s no pressing reason to rush off anywhere.”

“No arguments here.” Kara took another grateful sip of tea. “Alex actually ordered me to take it easy for a couple days. Strictly light duty, boss’s orders.”

“Good,” Lena said firmly. The memory of Kara throwing herself into harm’s way was still too fresh. She wouldn’t mind if Kara took it easy for far longer than a few days, bullet wound or not. “I know resting isn’t your favourite thing, but humour me.”

“For you, anything,” Kara said lightly, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made Lena’s cheeks warm slightly.

They stood like that for a quiet minute, shoulders brushing, watching the rain slide down the windowpane. It was startling how normal this felt — making breakfast together, chatting about the weather — as if they hadn’t been locked in a life-and-death struggle just days ago. As if they’d been sharing mornings like this for years.

Lena found her eyes drifting to the tablet again. She still hadn’t said anything about the UN email. Part of her didn’t want to break the gentle morning peace with that conversation, not until she’d sorted out her own thoughts. But honesty, they’d promised. And Kara was looking at her now with those perceptive blue eyes that saw far too much.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Kara asked quietly. She set down her half-finished tea. “You seem... I don’t know. Far away.”

Lena realized she’d been worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, a telltale sign of her distraction. She sighed and turned to face Kara more fully, leaning back against the counter. “I did get some interesting news this morning,” she began. Her fingers curled around the edge of the countertop, bracing herself. “An invitation, actually.”

Kara’s fingers tightened subtly around her mug. She could tell by Lena’s measured tone and the way her eyes darted away that whatever this “invitation” was, it carried weight. She kept her own voice gentle. “What kind of invitation?”

Lena took a breath. “To join a United Nations climate delegation. They’re forming an international panel to advise on global environmental initiatives, and the Secretary-General’s office reached out this morning to ask if I’d be part of it.”

For a moment, Kara forgot to breathe. The UN. She set her mug down carefully on the counter before she dropped it. “Lena, that’s… wow. That’s incredible.”

Lena’s lips curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “It is, isn’t it?” She ran a fingertip along the rim of her mug, tracing circles in the condensation. “A few years ago I would have accepted on the spot. But now... I’m not so sure.”

Kara nodded slowly, her mind already racing even as she tried to stay outwardly calm. “It’s a big decision,” she managed. Her own voice sounded oddly distant to her ears. “They’d be lucky to have you.”

And I’d be lost without you, a quiet part of her heart whispered.

Kara forced herself to focus on Lena’s face. She saw conflict there, and an uncertainty that Lena rarely showed. This wasn’t a foregone conclusion then. Lena hadn’t said yes yet — maybe didn’t want to say yes at all. Kara felt a cautious hope flicker in her chest, immediately chased by guilt for even wanting Lena to decline such an honour.

“This delegation,” Lena continued softly, “it would mean a lot of travel. Time away from L-Corp. From London.” Her gaze lifted, meeting Kara’s eyes directly. “Time away from you.”

Kara opened her mouth, but no immediate reply came. She had expected Lena to list her company or projects first as reasons for hesitating, not her. The admission sent warmth and ache twisting together in Kara’s chest.

She cleared her throat gently. “I’d never want to hold you back, Lena. If you feel you should do this—”

“I don’t know what I feel,” Lena interrupted, shaking her head. Frustration crept into her voice. “Part of me is flattered, of course. It’s important work. But another part of me is… exhausted by the idea of more meetings and politics. Of leaving right when—” She stopped, biting down on her words.

“Right when we just got our lives back,” Kara finished for her, a tentative softness in her tone.

Lena’s shoulders eased, as if relieved Kara understood. She gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Silence settled in the kitchen, filled only by the patter of rain against the window. Kara tried to steady the whirl of emotions inside her. Selfishly, she was relieved that Lena didn’t seem eager to accept. The thought of Lena flying off across the world, stepping alone into yet another spotlight, made Kara’s protective instincts flare hard. She just got her back — the last thing she wanted was to watch her walk away, even for the best of reasons.

But Kara also knew she had to tread carefully. Lena deserved to make this choice without feeling guilt or pressure from her. So Kara reached out and gently took Lena’s free hand, which was still restlessly tracing the mug’s rim. She felt Lena’s fingers intertwine with hers, cool from the cup.

“Whatever you decide,” Kara said quietly, “I’m here. You know that, right?”

Lena’s eyes searched hers. “Even if it means me being away for months? Even if it means—”

“Even then,” Kara affirmed. She mustered a smile, hoping it looked more confident than it felt. “I can handle a few flights to New York. Alex will love having an excuse to set up shop at the UN headquarters,” she added, trying for a lighter tone.

A ghost of a smile touched Lena’s lips at that. “She would turn the Delegates Lounge into a command centre before security even noticed.”

“Exactly.” Kara’s thumb stroked over the back of Lena’s hand. “Point is: if you go, you won’t be rid of us that easily. I’d visit as often as you want me to. And when I can’t, I’ll call. I’ll be annoying, probably.” She injected a teasing note into her voice, though her throat felt tight. “You’ll be trying to save the planet and I’ll be pestering you about whether you’ve had lunch.”

Lena let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but Kara didn’t miss the tear shining in the corner of Lena’s eye. “That sounds lovely, actually,” Lena whispered. “But…”

“But.” Kara squeezed her hand. This was the heart of it, she sensed. “Talk to me. What do you want, Lena? Not what you think is expected, or what some past version of you would have jumped at. You, right now.”

Lena’s fingers tightened on Kara’s. She looked down, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks as she gathered her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was low but steady. “Honestly? I want to stay.” She lifted her eyes, green meeting blue in a gaze steady as an oath. “I want to stay here, in London. With L-Corp. With... with you.”

Kara hadn’t realized just how desperately she’d needed to hear those words until relief crashed through her, swift and overwhelming. A soft tremor went through her hand in Lena’s. I failed her once. I won’t do it again. The vow thudded in Kara’s chest like a second heartbeat. She would make this right — whatever Lena needed, whatever came next, she would be there.

“Are you sure?” Kara asked gently. She didn’t want Lena to feel she was making the choice only for her sake. “If the reason you want to stay is because of what happened — or because of me — I don’t want you to regret it later.”

Lena stepped closer, closing the small distance between them. “I’m sure.” Her tone brooked no argument, but her face softened. “Kara, after everything we’ve been through, I have no intention of swanning off to play diplomat. Not when there’s real work to be done here.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Kara’s mouth at Lena’s phrasing. Trust Lena to consider fighting rogue threats and rebuilding trust as the real work compared to a high-profile UN role. Kara’s admiration for this woman swelled even more.

“Well then,” Kara murmured, her voice growing warm, “London is very lucky to keep you.”

Lena rolled her eyes lightly, though a hint of a blush coloured her cheeks. “It’s not as if I won’t still be working for the world. I just prefer to do it my way.”

“Speaking of which…” Lena bit her lip, seeming suddenly unsure. “I have an idea. And you can say no — your plate is beyond full as it is. But I’ve been thinking about what comes next. For both of us.”

Kara tilted her head. “I’m listening.”

Lena drew in a breath, as if steadying herself for a plunge. “Alex and the DEO still have their hands full, right? Edge may be gone, but he wasn’t working entirely alone. There are still those extremist contractors, the ones who targeted my lab. And now with Edge’s network unravelling, other opportunists might try to fill the void.”

Kara nodded slowly. This had been on her mind too. In fact, Alex had texted her late last night about a briefing — there were already whispers of a new threat geared toward sabotage of clean energy infrastructure. Kara hadn’t wanted to mention it to Lena yet, not when they were finally getting a moment to breathe.

“There’s definitely more to do,” Kara agreed. “We’re following some leads. It’s… likely we’ll be dealing with a larger group that goes beyond Edge. Eco-terrorists, maybe.”

Lena’s jaw set in that familiar determined way. “Then let me help. Officially this time.”

Kara blinked. “Help? Lena, you’ve already—”

“I mean it.” Lena’s voice gained strength. “All this time I was a target, or a client being protected. But I have resources and knowledge that could be an asset. What if I consulted for you and Alex? As a civilian advisor. I can offer technical expertise, funding, whatever the DEO needs from me.” She rushed on, eyes brightening with the spark of an idea catching fire. “We could coordinate efforts to protect the projects and technologies that these groups want to destroy. I know my technology better than anyone — if someone tries to weaponise it or sabotage it, I’ll see it coming. And if I’m working with you, I won’t be a liability in the field; I’ll be part of the solution.”

Kara was momentarily at a loss for words. Lena Luthor was nothing if not bold, but the fact that she wanted to throw herself into Kara’s world — again, but this time with full knowledge of the risks and no illusions — stirred a mix of pride and concern in her.

“Lena,” she began carefully, “going after these people can be dangerous. You saw that firsthand. If you come onboard, even in a consulting role, you’ll be painting a target on yourself all over again.”

Lena gave a wry smile. “My target’s been painted for years, Kara. At least this way I’ll see the bullets coming.”

Kara didn’t know whether to grimace or chuckle at Lena’s dark humour. She settled for tightening her grip on Lena’s hand. “I just… I don’t want you in harm’s way.”

“I know,” Lena said softly, stepping closer still until her body was nearly pressed to Kara’s. “But harm’s way seems to find me regardless. This time, I’d rather face it on my own terms — with you. That is,” she added with a small arch of her brow, “if you’ll have me. I don’t exactly have field training or a background in espionage.”

Kara huffed an affectionate laugh. “No, but you did manage to knock out one of Edge’s men with a laptop during that warehouse fight.”

Lena smiled proudly. “A rather durable model, thankfully.”

“And you outsmart pretty much everyone I know,” Kara continued, growing serious. “Lena, if you’re sure about this, then yes. I’d be honoured to have you working with us. Alex will be thrilled — she’s been trying to poach you for DEO’s R&D since the day she met you.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled, relief and excitement mingling there. “Really?”

“Really. She even joked about handcuffing you to a lab bench if you wouldn’t volunteer your brainpower willingly.”

“That does sound like your sister,” Lena said, laughing.

Kara’s heart fluttered at the sound — genuine laughter, light and unguarded. It felt like a victory to have coaxed it out after all the tears and tension of days prior.

“So we’ll do it,” Lena concluded, her voice decisive. “I’ll decline the UN offer, and I’ll work with the DEO. On one condition.”

Kara feigned a wary look. “Which is?”

“You and Alex have to stop keeping me on the sidelines. No more secret plans behind my back, no more lies ‘for my own good.’” Lena’s expression was gentle but firm. “If I’m part of this, I’m all in. We face whatever comes next together, with our eyes open. Agreed?”

Kara felt a swell of emotion rise in her throat. She lifted the hand she was holding and pressed a kiss to Lena’s knuckles, an almost old-fashioned gesture of reverence. “Agreed,” she said, her voice huskier than before. “No secrets. Partners.”

Lena’s breath caught softly at the word, and Kara realized it was the first time she had said it aloud: partners. A slow, radiant smile touched Lena’s lips, banishing the last of the uncertainty that had lingered in her eyes all morning.

“Partners,” Lena echoed.

The word hung between them, carrying a warmth and promise that went far beyond any written contract or mission plan.

Kara released Lena’s hand only to wrap her up in a hug, careful of her shoulder as Lena tucked herself against her. Lena’s arms slid around Kara’s waist beneath the folds of her robe, holding on tightly. They stood there amid the scent of steeped tea and the quiet drum of rain, two people who had chosen each other over all the noise and demands of the world outside.

After a moment, Kara felt Lena’s lips brush against her collarbone in a light, contented kiss. “So,” Lena murmured, tone turning playful, “does this mean I get an official DEO badge? Perhaps a codename? I’ve always wanted one of those.”

Kara chuckled, the sound vibrating through both of them. “We’ll see about that. But first, we’ll have to deal with the mountains of paperwork Alex is going to dump on you.”

Lena groaned theatrically, pulling back just enough to meet Kara’s eyes. “On second thought, maybe the UN delegation would have less paperwork.”

They shared a grin — easy and close, the tension of earlier replaced by a kind of quiet joy.

“Too late,” Kara quipped. “You’re one of us now. No backing out.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lena said, smiling. And Kara knew she meant it.

In that moment, Kara couldn’t recall a time she’d ever felt this light, this hopeful. Not in seven long years. She pressed her forehead gently to Lena’s, closing her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Lena’s fingers toyed lightly with a strand of Kara’s hair at the nape of her neck. “For what?”

“For staying.” Kara opened her eyes, and they burned with earnestness. “For choosing this. Choosing... us.”

Lena’s face softened, a tenderness overtaking her features that made Kara’s heart do a slow flip. “There was never any other real choice,” Lena replied, just as quietly. “Not for me.”

They stood like that, forehead to forehead, sharing breath and quiet smiles, until the whistle of the kettle on the stove (left on in their distraction) made both women jump and laugh. As Kara moved to remove the kettle from the heat, her eyes caught the tablet screen still resting on the counter, the UN email now dark and pending a response.

Kara reached over and, without hesitation, clicked the tablet off. There would be a polite decline to send later, but for now it could wait. They had more immediate things to attend to — together.

That afternoon, Kara pushed open a heavy steel door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” and led Lena into the heart of the DEO’s London field office. The clandestine headquarters was tucked beneath an unassuming government building in Whitehall – a labyrinth of concrete halls and high-tech nerve centers hidden right under the city’s nose. As they stepped inside, fluorescent lights hummed to life overhead, illuminating a corridor that smelled faintly of electronics and strong coffee.

Lena walked beside Kara, posture straight and chin lifted with resolve. Still, Kara noticed her eyes darting around, absorbing everything: the surveillance cameras swiveling in their domes, the biometric scanner that had cleared them through two checkpoints, the DEO insignia (a stylized eagle) on the wall above the security desk. This world was all new to Lena in some ways, yet not entirely – she had, after all, been entangled in DEO operations for weeks without knowing it.

“Strange to finally see it from the inside, isn’t it?” Kara commented, giving Lena an encouraging smile.

Lena glanced at her. “Strange, yes. In a fascinating way.” Her voice echoed softly off the polished concrete. “This is where you’ve been working all this time...”

Kara nodded. She had a sudden memory of herself standing in a similar corridor months ago, listening to Alex’s voice through an earpiece as she watched Lena from afar. How different things were now, walking side by side with Lena as an equal. “Welcome to the DEO,” she said gently.

They reached a set of double doors leading to the operations hub. Kara pressed her badge to the reader, and with a soft beep, the doors slid open.

Inside, the ops center bustled with quiet efficiency. Rows of analysts worked at computer stations, monitoring feeds and tapping away at keyboards. Along one curved wall, a bank of screens displayed world maps with various threat indicators, live security footage, and scrolling code. At the center of the room stood a circular conference table made of reinforced glass, currently strewn with tablets and files. A few agents in tactical gear milled about, conferring over documents.

Lena slowed a half-step, her eyes widening at the sheer amount of information flickering on the screens. Kara rested a reassuring hand at the small of Lena’s back, guiding her forward. She could feel a slight tension in Lena’s muscles – understandable, given this was her first time stepping into what was essentially a war room. “You okay?” Kara whispered.

Lena tore her gaze from a live satellite image rotating on a holo-display. “Fine. It’s… a lot to take in.” She offered a faint, self-aware smile. “I’m used to being the smartest person in the room. Here, I’m not even sure I know what half these systems do.”

“That’ll change soon enough,” Kara replied warmly. “And trust me, you still might be the smartest person in the room.”

A new voice cut in from near the conference table: “I second that.”

Kara looked up to see her sister, Alex Danvers, striding toward them. Alex wore her usual work attire – a sleek black pantsuit with her sidearm visible at her hip. Her expression was professional, but her eyes gleamed with relief and welcome.

“Lena,” Alex greeted, extending a hand. “Good to see you. And under far better circumstances this time.”

Lena shook Alex’s hand firmly. “Likewise. I hear congratulations are in order – it’s not every day we get to put a man like Edge behind bars.”

Alex’s smile sharpened with satisfaction. “Believe me, that felt very good. He’s already singing to authorities about his co-conspirators, so we’re getting plenty of useful intel.” She released Lena’s hand and gave Kara a once-over, her gaze lingering on the bandaged shoulder visible under Kara’s jacket. “How’s the patient?”

Kara rolled her eyes playfully. “The patient is fine, Dr. Danvers.”

“I’ll be the judge of that later,” Alex quipped, but her attention shifted back to Lena. “Kara tells me you’re officially joining our merry band. I hope she also warned you how bureaucratic it can be. We might be a private organisation but sometimes the miliary in all of us comes back out.”

Lena let out a small laugh. “There was mention of paperwork.”

“Oh, we’ve got paperwork,” Alex groaned theatrically. “NDA’s, contractor agreements, security clearances – I apologize in advance for the forms you’ll have to fill out. Government bureaucracy finds a way, even here.”

Kara watched Lena grin and felt a swell of gratitude for her sister’s easy acceptance. Alex had been wary of Lena’s involvement back when they were keeping secrets; it meant the world to see her now treating Lena like part of the team.

“On the bright side,” Alex continued, gesturing for them to follow toward the table, “once we get the red tape sorted, we can put you to work immediately. We’ve got a situation developing that might benefit from your insight.”

The three of them moved to the conference table, where a holographic map of Western Europe glowed above a projector. A few other DEO analysts gave curious glances toward Lena but remained focused on their tasks. Kara pulled out a chair for Lena, who sat and smoothed an invisible wrinkle in her blouse – a composed gesture, though Kara didn’t miss the slight tremor of anticipation in Lena’s hands.

Alex tapped a tablet, and a section of the map zoomed in on the UK and North Sea region. “We’ve been tracking an extremist group calling itself Green Fury,” she explained, her tone all business now. “Nominally environmental activists, but their methods are anything but peaceful. Think bombings, cyber attacks – they claim to target corporations destroying the planet, but lately their hits have been against renewable energy sites and research facilities.”

“Counterintuitive,” Lena remarked, brow furrowing. “Why target places trying to solve environmental issues?”

“Our question as well,” Alex said. “We suspect they’re less ideologically pure than they claim. Possibly funded by fossil fuel interests to sabotage competition, or perhaps they’re just using eco-rhetoric to mask a power grab. Either way, they’re dangerous and they’ve been getting bolder.”

Kara interjected, “A few days ago, while we were in Scotland, they attempted to breach a wind farm control center in Ireland. We think that was a test run.”

Alex nodded and swiped the tablet again, bringing up images of a logo spray-painted on a wall: a stylized green flame. “Two nights ago, Green Fury operatives stole materials from an offshore turbine project. And our intelligence indicates their next target might be even bigger.” She looked to Lena, expression grave. “We have reason to believe they’ve set their sights on L-Corp’s prototype fusion reactor.”

Lena drew a sharp breath. “In Inverness.”

“Yes. The facility you two saved from Edge’s people.” Alex’s jaw tightened at the memory. “It’s still under guard, but Green Fury’s involvement raises the stakes. They could be looking to destroy it or, worst case, repurpose it as a weapon.”

Lena had gone a touch pale, but her eyes flashed with resolve. “Then we can’t let that happen.”

“Agreed,” Kara said firmly. She felt a pang of protectiveness – not only for Lena but for the work Lena had poured her soul into. They hadn’t come this far to see it wrecked by another pack of fanatics.

Alex shifted her gaze between Kara and Lena. “Here’s the plan: We’re assembling a task force to secure the reactor site and neutralize the Green Fury cell behind this. It’ll likely mean an operation on the ground in the Highlands, possibly within the next 48 hours. We’d welcome your expertise, Lena. That reactor is a one-of-a-kind piece of tech. If something goes wrong or if the terrorists try to manipulate it, having you there could make all the difference.”

Lena didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. I can also start pulling data on known members of this group, cross-reference them against any L-Corp security footage from the Inverness lab break-in. Perhaps some faces will match up.”

Alex looked impressed. “That would be great. I’ll get you access to what we have on their roster.”

As Alex signaled to one of her aides to bring over documents, Kara leaned toward Lena, her voice low. “You sure you’re up for going back there so soon?”

Lena met her gaze steadily. “I am if you are.”

Kara felt a gentle reassurance in that statement. The last time they’d been at that reactor together, it had nearly been a nightmare scenario. This time, they would face whatever came side by side, eyes open.

“Count me in,” Kara said, reaching under the table to briefly squeeze Lena’s knee in solidarity. Lena placed her hand over Kara’s, giving it a grateful press.

They spent the next hour deep in planning. Alex’s team briefed them on logistics for the mission – travel to Inverness, coordination with local authorities (thinly veiled as a “safety inspection”), and tactical outlines. Lena, true to form, took it all in quickly and began contributing at once. She suggested calibration settings for remotely shutting down the reactor if needed, outlined the optimal conditions to safely vent the reactor’s energy in an emergency, and pinpointed two potential vulnerabilities in the facility’s security that she would patch preemptively.

As Lena spoke, Kara watched her in quiet awe. This environment – the acronyms, the contingency plans, the armed agents coming and going – it could have easily intimidated someone unused to it. But Lena was adapting seamlessly. She asked sharp questions, requested clarifications when needed, and even corrected one of the technical specialists on a calculation for blast radius (she was right, of course).

More than once, Kara caught some of the agents exchanging surprised glances, as if recalibrating their assumptions of the “civilian.” Kara couldn’t blame them; she herself felt a swell of pride at how confidently Lena carried herself.

Eventually, the flurry of briefings wound down. Alex checked her watch. “Alright, I think that’s enough for now. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred to finalize assignments.” She smiled at Lena. “Lena, if you’re willing, I’d like you to liaise with our science officer on enhancing the reactor’s security before we get there. You mentioned some patches…?”

“Of course.” Lena stood, smoothing down her skirt. “I can begin working on those immediately. I’ll need a secure workstation and access to the reactor’s schematic.”

“Done. I’ll have Agent Schott set you up in our lab down the hall.” Alex extended a hand to both of them. “And seriously, thank you. Both of you.”

Kara clasped Alex’s arm briefly – a quiet gesture of sisterly understanding. Lena simply nodded, determination etched on her face.

As Alex left to attend to other duties, Kara turned to Lena. “How’re you holding up?”

Lena took a breath, then gave a small smile. “Honestly? It’s invigorating. It’s a lot of information, but I feel… useful.”

“You are useful,” Kara said, letting admiration seep into her tone. “You were brilliant in there.”

A soft pink touched Lena’s cheeks at the praise. “I had good teachers. If I hadn’t spent the last month being secretly managed by your team, I might be a bit more lost right now.” She arched an eyebrow. “You all did leave quite a digital trail in my systems, by the way. I’m going to have a word with your cyber guy about backdoors into L-Corp’s network.”

Kara coughed, slightly chagrined. “Fair. Brainy does tend to, um, overreach when it comes to intel gathering.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled; she was clearly teasing more than truly upset. “I’ll forgive it. This once.”

They shared a grin, then Kara tilted her head toward the corridor. “Shall we? I’ll walk you to the lab.”

They strolled side by side through the busy operations center. A few agents nodded politely at Lena as they passed; word had spread quickly that she was on board. Kara noticed one younger analyst do a double-take and whisper excitedly to a colleague – likely recognizing Lena from the news – but, to their credit, no one interrupted or gawked outright. It seemed the DEO staff was content to accept Lena in stride as one of their own.

Kara led Lena down a quieter hallway toward the research labs. “This is us,” Kara said, pushing open a door labeled “Tech Lab 3.” Inside was a compact laboratory space: benches with soldering equipment, monitors displaying lines of code, a 3D printer humming in the corner, and walls lined with prototype gadgets and half-finished contraptions.

At one bench hunched a young man in a rumpled shirt, tinkering with what looked like a drone. He glanced up as they entered. “Oh! Hi there,” he chirped, setting down a micro screwdriver. He had an earnest face and slightly messy brown hair. “You must be Lena Luthor. I’m Winn Schott, resident gadget geek.” He wiped his hand hastily on his jeans and extended it. “It’s an absolute honour, by the way. I read your paper on bio-sequestration techniques last year – mind-blowing.”

Lena shook his hand, smiling at his enthusiasm. “Thank you, Winn. And please, just call me Lena. I appreciate you getting me set up.”

“Sure thing. Alex sent over your clearance a few minutes ago.” Winn gestured to a computer terminal already logged in to a secure network interface. “I loaded the Inverness reactor schematics here, plus our threat profile on Green Fury. If you need any other data, just holler.”

“Perfect.” Lena moved to the terminal, scanning the screens rapidly. Kara watched her shoulders relax a fraction now that she was back in her element – a lab, with data at her fingertips.

Winn hovered, clearly eager. “If you need any tools or, like, want a tour of our gizmos, I’m your guy. Kara can vouch that I have an unhealthy love for tech toys.”

Kara chuckled. “Unhealthy is an understatement.”

Lena threw a glance over her shoulder, replying graciously, “I’m sure I’ll take you up on that, Winn. For now, I’ll dive into these schematics.”

“Roger that. I’ll be right over here optimising this drone for field deployment if you need me.” He gave them a friendly salute and returned to his workbench across the lab.

Kara leaned beside Lena as she got to work. On the screen was a complex 3D model of the reactor core. Lena’s eyes flicked over it, and she began typing notes on a digital pad. Kara could see lines of code already forming – likely scripts to bolster the reactor’s firewall or to program an emergency shutdown command that only Lena could execute.

“Does everything look alright?” Kara asked softly.

Lena nodded, her focus intense. “I designed the failsafes to be robust, but there are always improvements to be made. I’m adding a manual override that bypasses the main control system – just in case Green Fury tries to hack it remotely like Edge’s hacker did. And I’ll tweak the cooling system’s tolerance, so it can handle a rapid shutdown without venting.”

Kara didn’t fully grasp the technical specifics, but she caught the gist. Lena was making sure that if bad actors tried anything, she could pull the plug safely. “Smart.”

Lena gave a faint hum of acknowledgement. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, executing commands that caused various parts of the reactor model to highlight and flash.

Kara watched for a minute, content simply to observe Lena’s brilliance in action. But soon she noticed a slight hitch in Lena’s breath, and the keystrokes slowed.

Lena sat back a little, rolling her stiff shoulders. The adrenaline of the briefing was likely wearing off, and the fatigue of the day — and of the very long week — seeping back in.

“Hey,” Kara said gently. “Why don’t we wrap up soon? You’ve already done so much today.”

Lena paused, rubbing her neck. “I just want to finish configuring this patch... nearly there.”

“You can always continue tomorrow morning, with fresh eyes,” Kara urged. She placed a hand on Lena’s back, kneading lightly at a knot of tension. Lena sighed at the touch, leaning subtly into it. “Don’t run yourself into the ground on day one, Ms. Advisor.”

Lena turned her head to give Kara a wry look. “Taking a page from your book, perhaps. I recall you doing something very similar not too long ago — pushing through exhaustion to keep me safe.”

Kara couldn’t argue that. Instead, she offered a small, fond smile. “We can take care of each other, then. Trade off being the sensible one.”

“Deal,” Lena said softly.

She typed the last few lines of code and saved her work. “There. The rest can wait.”

Closing out of the terminal, she stood. Kara could see weariness creep around Lena’s eyes now that the rush of work was pausing. She took Lena’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

The word home earned Kara a quiet, beautiful smile from Lena.

They bade goodnight to Winn (who reminded Lena that her login would work on any DEO system now, should she need remote access later) and headed out of the lab. The corridors of the DEO were quieter in the evening; many staff had rotated out or gone off duty. Their footsteps echoed as they made their way to the exit.

Walking out together into the drizzling London dusk, Kara felt the day’s weight settling on her — not in a bad way, exactly, but as a reminder that so much had changed in such a short time. Yesterday, she and Lena had been unsure what the future held. Today, that future was taking shape in concrete plans and shared purpose.

Lena’s arm found its way around Kara’s uninjured side as they reached the street where Kara’s sedan was parked. Kara immediately draped her own arm around Lena’s shoulders, drawing her in under the umbrella she’d grabbed from the car. The rain was light, a misty veil across the glow of streetlamps. They huddled together against the chill as Kara unlocked the car.

Once inside, with the doors closed and the patter of rain on the roof, a hush enveloped them. Lena exhaled and sank back into the passenger seat. “Well,” she said softly, “that was quite a first day.”

Kara started the engine, then reached over to gently clasp Lena’s hand once more before driving off. “You were amazing,” she murmured.

Lena gave her a tired but happy look. “So were you. Though I’m not sure either of us will be saying the same after slogging through that paperwork Alex promised.”

Kara laughed under her breath. “Probably not.” She squeezed Lena’s hand. “Ready to head home?”

Lena’s eyes softened at the word again. She laced her fingers through Kara’s. “Ready.”

As Kara pulled the car out into the rainy evening, she felt a quiet contentment settle in her bones. They were going home — together — after fighting battles side by side. And tomorrow, they would face the next ones the same way. Kara stole a glance at Lena, who had her head resting back against the seat and eyes closed in a moment of rest. In the gentle light from the dashboard, Lena’s features were relaxed, a small, peaceful smile still playing on her lips.

Kara reached over and brushed a damp lock of hair from Lena’s forehead. Lena opened her eyes at the touch and turned toward Kara with an expression of such trust and affection that it stole Kara’s breath.

Yes, the future was uncertain. But they had chosen to meet it together, and that made all the difference in the world.

“Try to get some rest,” Kara whispered as they merged into the sparse evening traffic. “We’ll be home soon.”

Lena nodded, letting her eyes drift shut again. Her hand remained firmly in Kara’s grasp, warm and steady all the way back to their flat.

That night, the flat was quiet save for the gentle patter of rain against the bedroom windows. In the darkness, Lena lay nestled against Kara beneath a cocoon of duvet, their bodies tangled in a comfortable warmth. The day’s events still swirled softly in Lena’s mind – the UN offer, the decision to stay, the intense briefing at the DEO – but here in the hush of midnight, none of it felt overwhelming. Not with Kara’s steady heartbeat under her palm and Kara’s arm draped around her back, anchoring her.

She listened to Kara’s breathing, slow and even but not yet deep with sleep. They were both bone-tired, but a contented kind of fatigue. Lena shifted slightly, tilting her head up to gaze at Kara’s profile in the dim light that filtered through the curtains.

Kara’s eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling in thought. Sensing Lena’s movement, she glanced down and smiled tenderly. “Can’t sleep?” Kara’s voice was a hushed murmur.

“Mm, my mind’s a bit too busy,” Lena admitted. She reached up to brush a fingertip along Kara’s jawline. “Yours too, I suspect.”

Kara sighed, though not unhappily. “It’s not every day life actually starts falling into place,” she said wryly. “Hard to shut that off.”

Lena understood perfectly. How many nights had she lain awake turning over problems or breakthroughs in her head? Tonight, though, it wasn’t worry keeping her awake. It was something warmer, a gentle thrumming gratitude at how far they’d come.

“I was just thinking,” Lena began softly, “about how much has changed. A week ago I… I wasn’t sure if I’d ever even speak with you again, let alone share a bed.”

Kara’s arm tightened around Lena, pulling her a fraction closer. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever earn the right to be here again,” Kara replied, voice low. “Every morning I wake up and see you, I have to give myself a little mental pinch.”

Lena smiled in the dark and pressed a kiss to Kara’s collarbone. “You’re here because we both fought for it.” She hesitated, then added quietly, “And because we both wanted it – more than anything.”

She felt Kara’s lips press to the crown of her head. “I did. God, I did.”

Lena fell silent for a moment, listening to the rain. There was one thought that had been nudging at her all evening, something she’d been meaning to share with Kara now that they had finally stopped running from one emergency to the next.

“Kara?” she said softly.

“Hm?”

“Back at the cabin, when I found your manuscript… I read some of it.” Lena felt Kara go very still beside her, and she hurried on. “I know it was private. And I promise I didn’t read every page – just enough to… to understand.”

A few heartbeats passed. Then Kara spoke, tone careful. “Understand what?”

“What you were going through.” Lena lifted her head so she could meet Kara’s eyes directly. Even in the darkness, she could see the slight apprehension there. Lena reached up to caress Kara’s cheek reassuringly. “It was beautiful, Kara. Painful, and honest, and beautiful. And it told me so much about you – about the real you that I had been getting to know without even realising it.”

Kara’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I wrote a lot of things in that file. I wasn’t even sure they made sense. It was just… everything I couldn’t say out loud.”

Lena felt her eyes prickle with emotion. “There was one line that has been echoing in my mind ever since.” She drew a shaky breath, steeling herself to speak it aloud. “You wrote: "I never wanted to be the story. But she made me want to be the ending."”

As Lena spoke the words, Kara closed her eyes, a faint tremor passing over her features. In the stillness that followed, Lena could hear the distant sound of a car on wet streets below, the ticking of the radiator – and the soft catch of Kara’s breath.

“You remember that,” Kara whispered, opening her eyes. They glistened in the low light.

“I’ll never forget it.” Lena’s voice quivered slightly. “When I read that line, I knew… I knew it was about me. And I think I understood, even then, what you meant. But I’d like to hear you say it now.”

Kara’s hand found Lena’s and entwined their fingers. She took a moment, as if gathering her thoughts from some guarded place. When she spoke, her words were rough with feeling. “Before I met you, I lived my life like a ghost. I was always on the outside, looking in – observing other people’s stories, never a part of them. After what happened to me in the military, I didn’t want to be in anyone’s story. It felt safer to be invisible, to have nothing and no one that could tie me down or… or hurt me if I lost it.”

Lena’s eyes stung. She squeezed Kara’s hand, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Then I was assigned to you,” Kara murmured. “And I thought I could stay a ghost. Just do the job, protect you from afar, and not get entangled.” She huffed softly, a hint of self-deprecation in the sound. “But you were so… you. Brilliant and stubborn and kind. You drew me in before I could stop it. I found myself wanting things I swore I’d given up. I didn’t want to just protect your life, Lena. I wanted to be part of it.”

Lena felt a tear slip free, tracing warm down to her pillow. She had imagined some of this, reading between the lines of Kara’s writing and Jack’s confession, but hearing Kara say it was something else entirely.

Kara gently wiped the tear from Lena’s cheek with her thumb. Her own eyes were moist. “That line – it was my way of admitting to myself that I wanted a future with you. An ending to the story where it wasn’t me fading back into the shadows, or you walking away in anger. I wanted to be there, with you, at the end of it all. Whatever that meant. I wanted to be your ending, Lena.”

A soft sob hitched in Lena’s throat, and she didn’t fight it. She shifted up and kissed Kara – a tender, lingering kiss that tried to pour all of her love and gratitude into one touch. Kara returned it with equal gentleness, her thumb stroking Lena’s cheek as their lips moved together.

When they finally parted, Lena rested her forehead against Kara’s, both of them breathing unsteadily, hearts thudding in unison. “You know,” Lena whispered, “I never wanted to be a story either. Not the tragic Luthor story the press wrote, not the lonely genius narrative I told myself I was doomed to. But then this absurd, messy story with you crashed into my life, and… and I want to see how it ends too. With you.”

Kara made a quiet sound – something between a laugh and a sob – and pulled Lena fully on top of her, wrapping her in both arms. Lena went willingly, snuggling against Kara’s chest as Kara held her like something precious. Rain drummed steadily on the glass, a lullaby just for them.

“I’m sorry I ever lied to you,” Kara murmured into Lena’s hair. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Lena shook her head, her ear pressed above Kara’s heart. “We’ve both bled enough over that wound. It’s closed now.”

Kara’s hand stroked slowly up and down Lena’s spine. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Lena lifted her head to look at Kara once more. “For what?”

“For giving us this chance. For trusting me with your heart again.”

Lena’s throat tightened. In truth, trust was still something she was piecing back together, but she trusted this – the quiet honesty between them now. “You make it sound like a gift I gave you,” Lena said softly. “It’s not just mine, Kara. Our chance, our story. We’re writing the ending together.”

A smile broke through the remaining tears on Kara’s face. “Together,” she echoed.

They lay back again, Lena tucked securely against Kara’s side. Kara reached down and pulled the duvet up around them. The warmth of Kara’s body, the steady rise and fall as she breathed, lulled Lena into a state of serenity she hadn’t felt in ages.

As her eyelids grew heavy, Lena felt Kara press a final kiss to her temple. “Get some sleep, love,” Kara whispered, the endearment slipping out naturally, sweetly.

Love. The word fluttered through Lena, filling all the cracks inside with its simple truth. She didn’t speak the word aloud – not tonight. Instead, she tightened her arm around Kara’s middle and let her eyes close, her voice a drowsy murmur in reply.

“Goodnight, Kara.”

In the darkness, Kara’s embrace answered for her – strong and sure. And as Lena finally drifted into sleep, it was without fear or uncertainty. Tomorrow would come, and with it whatever challenges fate had in store. But in this moment, in Kara’s arms, Lena knew one thing with quiet certainty:

They had chosen one another. And that, in the end, was the story she had always wanted to be a part of.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Lena’s breath misted in the cold night air as she stepped out of the armoured DEO van. The world beyond was still and dark, a deserted expanse of heathland broken only by the low silhouette of the LCorp experimental reactor facility ahead. Above, the moon hid behind a shroud of clouds, leaving only sparse starlight to silver the edges of the chain-link perimeter fence. In the distance, red hazard lights atop the reactor’s domed structure pulsed an urgent warning. She tugged her borrowed DEO tactical jacket tighter, feeling the unfamiliar weight of a ballistic vest beneath it. It wasn’t fear that made her heart beat fast, but a tense anticipation that thrummed through her veins – the knowledge that this time, she was walking into danger with eyes wide open.

A warm presence appeared at her side. Kara’s hand found the small of Lena’s back, a gentle pressure guiding her forward. “You all right?” Kara asked quietly. Her voice was low and steady, nearly lost under the distant hum of the facility’s emergency generators. In the darkness, Kara’s blue eyes searched Lena’s face, their concern evident even in half-light.

Lena nodded, mouth dry but resolve firm. “I am.” She managed a faint smile for Kara’s sake. “Just… thinking.” In truth, her mind was a lattice of thoughts and emotions – the surreal fact that she was here at all, that Dr. Lena Luthor, CEO of LCorp and perennial civilian, was about to step onto an active covert operation site. Less than a month ago, she would have balked at the idea. She had fiercely rejected the notion of bodyguards or protection, determined to handle threats on her own terms. But that was before so much had changed – before a secretive agent named Kara Danvers infiltrated her life under false pretences only to save it, then to shatter her trust, and finally, to mend her heart piece by piece.

A quiet beep in Lena’s ear made her flinch slightly. The comm unit Alex had insisted she wear crackled to life. "Alpha Team, report. Kara, Lena – positions?" Alex Danvers’ voice was crisp and composed, cutting through the silence.

Kara tapped the comm device at her own ear. “We’re at the perimeter, approaching the main gate,” she replied softly, then added, “No hostiles in sight. The external security seems to be down.” Lena could hear the tightly leashed tension in Kara’s tone. This facility – Lena’s facility – had been compromised by an eco-terrorist cell only an hour ago. The group had slipped past or neutralised the on-site guards and initiated a catastrophic failure sequence in the reactor’s systems. Everyone else had been evacuated by local authorities, but the facility now lay silent and vulnerable, rigged to self-destruct unless Lena could stop it.

Lena felt a coil of anger twist beneath her ribs at that thought. This reactor was her brainchild – a prototype designed to produce clean energy from captured carbon and hydrogen with zero emissions. Years of work, countless hopes, balanced on a knife’s edge because a fanatic group believed any corporate-controlled technology was an enemy to the environment. The irony would have made her laugh if it weren’t so bitter. Instead, she swallowed, tasting metal at the back of her throat. There was far more than steel and concrete at stake – if the reactor core breached, it would release toxins and shrapnel for miles, devastating the very land and people it aimed to help. And if it exploded, it would also deal a blow to the future of green energy, to everything Lena had worked for.

No. She would not let that happen.

Kara’s hand lingered at Lena’s back as they moved. Together they crept along the fence line toward the access gate. The padlock hung mangled and broken – a sign of forced entry. Kara eased it open with a soft creak of metal. Lena’s pulse quickened. The last time she’d been in the midst of such danger, she hadn’t known it – she’d been caught unawares, the oblivious target of schemes and violence operating behind the scenes. Back then, Kara had been her unseen guardian, a stranger in disguise protecting her from the shadows. Tonight, Kara was at her side, her partner in every sense of the word, and Lena knew exactly what peril they were heading into. The difference made her stomach flutter strangely: a mix of nerves and a quiet thrill at standing here by choice, side by side with Kara Danvers.

As they slipped through the gate, Kara signalled for Lena to keep low. They crossed an open stretch of tarmac, darting from the cover of one maintenance shed to another. Lena mirrored Kara’s crouched posture as best she could. The night felt unnaturally silent within the compound, broken only by the distant throb of the reactor’s emergency pumps. The terrorists had done their work and gone to ground – perhaps literally. According to DEO intel, at least one cell member might still be inside to ensure the job was finished, though they couldn’t be certain. Lena’s mouth felt drier with each careful step. She was no field agent; fear threatened to claw up her throat each time the wind rustled a loose piece of sheet metal or when a shadow shifted unexpectedly. But every time she glanced at Kara moving confidently ahead, her fear ebbed. Kara’s silhouette was purposeful and poised, her every movement an assurance. Lena found herself steadying her breathing to match Kara’s measured steps.

They paused behind a concrete pillar just twenty metres from the entrance to the reactor control building. The door ahead stood ajar, light spilling out into the night. Kara held up a closed fist – the universal signal to stop – and Lena halted. With her other hand, Kara pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then toward the door. I’ll go first. Lena gave a single nod. She pressed her back against the pillar as Kara slipped into the open, moving with uncanny silence across the threshold.

A few heartbeats passed. Lena counted them automatically – one, two, three… on eight, Kara’s head reappeared around the doorframe. She beckoned Lena forward. Lena pushed off the pillar and made a quick dash across the remaining gap, boots crunching softly on gravel and broken glass. Kara caught her by the arm as she came through the door, steadying her. The interior lights glowed dim and red – emergency power only. It bathed the hallway in an eerie crimson wash that painted Kara’s golden hair blood-orange and cast long shadows down the corridor. The metallic tang of overheating circuits hit Lena’s nose immediately, along with a faint wisp of smoke. Her reactor was in distress.

“Main control room is this way,” Lena whispered, inclining her head to the left. She knew this facility’s layout intimately – she had walked these halls many times during construction and testing. But never under such conditions, and never with adrenaline coursing quite so sharply through her. Kara gave a terse nod and moved out, keeping herself slightly ahead of Lena, her handgun drawn and held low.

As they navigated the corridor, Lena felt the urge to speak rising in her chest – an urge to fill the silence, to ground herself in the sound of Kara’s voice. But she bit it back. They needed silence, and Kara was in mission mode, every sense attuned to potential threats. Instead, Lena let her thoughts churn quietly. Only hours ago, they had been at their flat, curled up on the sofa reviewing schematics and contingency plans – preparing for this very scenario they hoped wouldn’t come. Kara had insisted on walking through every safety procedure with her, drilling until Lena could recite steps even half-asleep. At the time, Lena had teased Kara for being overprotective. Now, with sweaty palms and a hammering heart, she was grateful for it. Preparation kept panic at bay.

A door marked AUTHORISED PERSONNEL came up on their left – the entrance to the main control room. Lena reached for the keypad, then paused. The small screen was dark. The terrorists had likely cut the power to it or smashed it. She ran her fingers under the panel and found the manual release lever. With a deep breath, she pulled. The lever resisted a moment, then gave with a grinding clang. The door slid open a few inches – then jammed.

Kara exchanged a look with Lena in the ruddy gloom. The gap was too narrow to slip through. Lena huffed softly in frustration and pushed alongside Kara, their combined strength managing to widen the opening another inch, two. Still not enough. Through the gap, Lena could see flickering monitors and the sparking remains of the primary console. The sight made her chest clench painfully – it was like seeing her hard work gutted.

From inside the control room came a sudden noise – a harsh scrape, then a muffled thud. Lena’s eyes widened. Someone was in there. Kara heard it too; in an instant she signalled for Lena to step back. Lena pressed herself against the corridor wall as Kara squared herself at the door. With a single explosive motion, Kara kicked at the obstruction jamming the door. Metal shrieked as the door slid open just enough for Kara to shove through.

Lena held her breath. A shout rang out from within, followed by a scuffle. The control room echoed with a crash of something heavy – likely one of the overturned chairs – and a sharp cry of pain cut short. The sounds that followed were indecipherable: a grunt, the slam of a body against a console, then silence.

Heart in her throat, Lena slipped through the partially open door after Kara. The scene in the low red light resolved slowly before her. A man in dark fatigues lay unconscious across the floor, one arm twisted beneath him at an uncomfortable angle. Kara stood over him, chest heaving with exertion. At the sight of Lena, Kara’s tense stance softened slightly. “He was trying to wreck the backup cooling system,” she said, nodding to a panel where wires were spilling out like entrails. “I stopped him, but not soon enough. The system’s offline.” There was a tremor of anger in Kara’s voice. She pressed her boot against a screwdriver on the floor – likely the crude tool the man had used to pry the panel – and slid it away, disarming the threat entirely.

Lena stepped carefully around the fallen terrorist, trying not to look at him longer than necessary. She had never grown comfortable with violence, not even after witnessing Kara fight for her during the rescue that had changed both of their lives. There was a part of her that still flinched at the sight of a body – even an enemy’s – crumpled by Kara’s hand. But she recognised the necessity. And more importantly, she trusted Kara’s restraint; the man at their feet was breathing, just unconscious. Kara had done only what was needed.

Still, seeing Kara in action again – the swift, decisive force she embodied – sent a shiver through Lena. It was a far cry from the affable writer Kara had pretended to be when they first met. But Lena knew the woman behind both guises now. The kindness and warmth were just as real as the steel and skill. They were all parts of Kara Danvers, the whole complex person Lena had come to love.

Love. The word alone would have set Lena’s heart tumbling a few weeks ago – she had been so afraid to even think it, let alone speak it. Too much hurt had been wrapped up in that feeling: betrayal, longing, the ache of loss when Kara had disappeared after their ugly confrontation. But things were different now. Scarred, not broken. Mended, not perfect. She and Kara had fought their way back to each other, and Lena had allowed herself to love again, slowly, cautiously. Standing here now in the middle of chaos, Lena felt that love burn steady inside her, a light guiding her forward.

“Lena.” Kara’s voice gently pulled her from her thoughts. “We need to hurry.”

Right. The mission. Lena jolted into motion, skirting past Kara toward the primary control console. It was a wreck – the screens smashed, and an acrid smell indicated some internal components had been deliberately shorted. Her throat tightened at the sight, but she forced herself to focus. She swung the heavy backpack off her shoulders and unzipped it, revealing a sleek portable device about the size of a toaster, all gleaming steel and carbon fibre, with cables neatly coiled around it. LCorp Tech Division had scrambled to fabricate this prototype failsafe device in the last week, using Lena’s own emergency protocols. Only she fully understood its interface and algorithms; there was no time to train anyone else.

Lena hoisted the device onto the only section of the console that looked intact. Her hands moved on autopilot, prying open an access panel beneath the console to find the manual port. It was there, thank God. With practised motions, she connected the device’s primary cable into the port and flicked a switch on its side. The device hummed to life, a small status screen glowing cobalt blue.

“How long do you need?” Kara asked, coming to stand close by Lena’s shoulder. Her eyes kept darting to the doorway, to the unconscious man, then back to Lena, ever watchful.

“Just a few minutes,” Lena replied, typing a series of commands into the device. A progress bar bloomed on the little screen, inching forward as her program began interfacing with the reactor’s systems. “I have to stabilise the core temperature and re-route the coolant manually, since the automatic systems are offline. My program should inject new control commands directly... if the damage isn’t too great.”

She tried to keep her voice clinical, detached, like she was giving a lecture at a conference. It helped her stay calm. In truth, the margin for error was razor thin. If her calculations were off, if the terrorists had damaged more than anticipated, if the device failed – the reactor could either melt down or even explode once it reached critical failure. They had perhaps ten minutes before that tipping point, maybe less. The countdown clock in her head would not stop ticking.

Kara seemed to sense her rising anxiety. “You’ve got this,” Kara said, her tone steady and sure. She placed a hand on Lena’s back again, warm and grounding. “If anyone can fix this, it’s you.”

Lena drew a breath and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The cursor on the device’s screen blinked as lines of code scrolled rapidly – her code, trying to wrest control from the rogue sequences the terrorists had triggered. For a moment, her vision blurred, and she realised her eyes were stinging with unshed tears, likely from the smoke drifting through the room or maybe from holding them open too long in concentration. She blinked them away fiercely. Focus.

Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm blared from one of the secondary panels on the wall. Lena’s head snapped up in alarm. Red lights began flashing more rapidly. The reactor’s core temperature was still climbing – too fast. Her device’s progress bar was only at 75%.

“I need more time,” she hissed under her breath, fingers flying over the input pad. She initiated a secondary routine to try and force an immediate coolant purge. The device whirred, processing the command.

Kara tapped her comm. “Alex, status?” she spoke quietly but urgently. Lena only caught Alex’s response faintly through the earpiece: "Temperature spiking... time’s almost up."

Lena gritted her teeth. Come on, come on... The progress bar hit 90%. Almost there. Outside the control room’s shattered windows, she could see a faint orange glow blooming against the darkness – the reactor core, overheating enough to shine.

A groan from behind made Lena tense. The downed terrorist was stirring, unbelievably resilient or merely unlucky to be waking now. Kara moved in an instant to him, expertly binding his wrists with a zip-tie from her belt. He was disoriented, coughing as he regained consciousness, but Kara pressed a knee between his shoulder blades, keeping him subdued. “Stay down,” Kara warned coldly.

The man muttered something in a language Lena didn’t catch, his voice thick with pain and malice. Lena’s focus wavered, heart pounding as she glanced back at the device’s screen. Still 90% – it seemed to be stuck.

Kara looked up, meeting Lena’s eyes across the room. “Lena, focus. Almost there,” Kara encouraged, as if reading the panic threatening to well up. Lena gave a quick nod, tearing her gaze from the writhing man and back to her work. She couldn’t allow herself distraction now, not when they were so close.

With a last few keystrokes, Lena initiated the final override. The device dinged, a soft chime that sounded incongruously cheerful amid the chaos. PROCESS COMPLETE flashed on the screen.

Lena let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She pressed the EXECUTE command. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the blaring alarms cut off. The red lights steadied to a firm amber. On the far wall, a gauge that had been buried in the danger zone slowly crept backward, out of the red.

Outside, the orange glow dimmed as the reactor’s emergency rods deployed and coolant flooded the core. The threat of imminent explosion evaporated with each passing second.

“It’s working,” Lena whispered, scarcely believing. She sagged against the console as relief crashed over her in a wave. Her legs felt suddenly weak.

Kara had noticed the indicators too. She removed her knee from the terrorist’s back, securing the now groaning man to a heavy pipe with a second zip-tie. Satisfied he wasn’t going anywhere, Kara rushed to Lena’s side. “You did it,” she said, and now her voice, which had been all hard edges and command, gentled into something warm and awed. “Lena, you did it.”

Lena managed a shaky smile. “We did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.” As soon as the words left her lips, they felt inadequate. Kara had fought off the attacker, guided her in, kept her calm – how many ways had Kara made it possible for Lena to stand here and succeed? She reached up with a trembling hand to cup Kara’s cheek, feeling the soft skin smeared with a bit of grime. Kara’s face in the amber emergency light was flushed, a small cut on her brow bleeding where, Lena realised belatedly, the terrorist must have landed a hit. Lena’s stomach twisted at the sight of even that tiny injury.

Kara caught Lena’s hand in her own, turning her head to press a kiss into Lena’s palm. “It’s nothing,” she murmured, knowing exactly what had drawn Lena’s concern. “Just a scratch.”

A familiar ache filled Lena’s chest. In the final confrontation with Edge and his mercenaries weeks ago, Kara had taken a bullet for her – a moment that still haunted Lena’s nightmares. The sight of Kara collapsing, blood seeping through her shirt... Lena blinked and forced herself back to the present. Tonight had ended differently. Kara was safe, alive; they both were. She tilted her forehead to rest against Kara’s, drawing strength from the solid warmth of her.

Around them, the control room was quiet now save for the hum of systems gradually returning to normal. The man on the floor groaned again, but he was securely bound. Help would arrive soon to deal with him. For this stolen moment, in the dim glow of aftermath, it was just the two of them.

Lena closed her eyes. She allowed herself to feel the full weight of everything that had transpired – not just tonight, but over the tumultuous weeks before. Her body trembled as the adrenaline ebbed, leaving her both exhausted and elated. Kara’s arms slipped around her waist, holding her close, steadying her. Lena released a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. It struck her that she’d never felt safer than she did right now, standing in the epicentre of danger wrapped in Kara’s embrace.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kara whispered against her hair. The words were soft, almost lost in the stillness.

Lena’s eyes burned again, this time with happy tears. She let out a shaky chuckle. “I think I’m a little proud of myself too,” she admitted. It was something she wouldn’t have allowed herself to say not long ago – humility or perhaps fear of seeming vulnerable would have stopped her. But Kara had a way of dismantling those defences, of making it safe to feel whatever she felt. Lena pulled back just enough to meet Kara’s gaze. “Though,” she added lightly, “I do hope every one of our dates won’t involve preventing nuclear catastrophes. I rather enjoyed the quiet night in we had planned.”

Kara laughed, a sound that was like the first warm rays of sun breaking a storm. Lena felt Kara’s shoulders shake with it. “No promises,” Kara replied, eyes shining with mirth and something deeper. “Trouble does seem to find us. But I promise to make the next quiet night worth the wait.”

For a moment they simply looked at each other. In Kara’s eyes, Lena saw that fierce protectiveness mingled with adoration – a look that said Kara would go to the ends of the earth for her, but also that she cherished Lena for standing at her side, not behind her. Lena wondered if Kara could see the reflection of the same feelings in her own gaze: gratitude, love, and a determination just as strong never to let Kara down.

Behind them, Lena’s device emitted a few beeps as it ran through final diagnostics. All green. The reactor was stable, the crisis truly averted. Soon, the DEO clean-up teams would sweep through, securing the facility, collecting the captured saboteur, analysing evidence of the eco-terror group’s methods. Lena knew Alex and the others would be thorough. There might even be press to handle come morning – though the DEO would keep LCorp’s name out of it if possible, to avoid drawing attention to how close disaster had come. It would be a long night yet, filled with reports and debriefs.

But the mission itself was done. They had won this small battle.

Kara’s fingers brushed a lock of hair back from Lena’s face. Even now her touch was careful, as if Lena might bruise, though her eyes were full of pride. There was a question there too, unspoken but palpable between them. Kara’s hesitance, the slight furrow of her brow, gave it away. Lena realised what it was – a lingering uncertainty not about the mission, but about them.

Lena offered a faint smile and decided to pre-empt the worry she could sense coiling in Kara. “I’m okay,” she assured softly. “Truly. A bit shaken, a bit tired – but I’m okay. You don’t have to fuss.”

“I know you’re okay,” Kara said gently. Her hands settled at Lena’s hips, thumbs drawing idle circles. “You’re more than okay. You were amazing.” She paused, biting her lip. “I just… I dragged you back into a fight again. Part of me hates that I had to.”

Lena’s heart gave a twist. Kara was always quick to shoulder blame, even when none was due. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I chose this,” Lena replied, voice firm. She placed a hand over Kara’s chest, right above her heart, feeling its strong, steady beat. “I chose to be here, Kara. I wanted to be here.”

Kara covered Lena’s hand with her own, holding it in place against her chest. “I know. It’s just… after everything I put you through, asking you to risk yourself like this, it doesn’t feel fair.”

“Fair?” Lena echoed, a soft incredulity in her tone. “Kara, you risk yourself for me all the time. At least now I can stand next to you and risk something too. That’s my choice. And if it keeps others safe, if it keeps you safe, I’d do it a thousand times over.” Lena felt the truth of those words resonate through her. Gone were the days when she’d accept being protected in the dark, kept ignorant for her own safety. She wasn’t a damsel in a tower, and Kara was no solitary knight. They were partners now.

Kara was silent for a heartbeat, blue eyes searching Lena’s face. There was a sheen to them – emotion held at bay. “You mean that,” Kara said quietly, amazement threading her voice.

Lena gave a tiny nod. “With everything I am.” Her hand squeezed Kara’s reassuringly. “I trust you with my life, Kara. And I’m done sitting on the sidelines of my own.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “Besides, it turns out action scenes bring out a rather heroic side of me. Who knew?”

Kara’s lips curved into that heart-stopping smile – the one so earnest and bright that it made Lena’s breath catch. “I knew,” Kara said, her tone turning tender. “I always saw the hero in you, Lena. That’s why…” She trailed off, eyes flickering downward for a second as if gathering courage. When she met Lena’s gaze again, her expression had turned serious, vulnerable. “That’s why it killed me when I lost your trust. I never wanted…” Kara swallowed. “I never wanted to be the story. But—”

Lena’s breath hitched softly at the familiar words hovering on Kara’s tongue. In the depths of her mind, she could almost see the page from Kara’s abandoned manuscript, the line written there like a confession: I never wanted to be the story. But she made me want to be the ending. Kara had once hidden her feelings in fiction because she hadn’t dared speak them. Now here they were, laid bare in reality.

“But I made you want to be the ending,” Lena finished for her, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt Kara’s inhale of surprise beneath her palm. Lena’s lips trembled into a smile. “I remember,” she said gently. “I remember every word you wrote.” In that raw moment, reading Kara’s private words, Lena hadn’t fully grasped them. She hadn’t been ready. Perhaps she still wasn’t entirely sure what their ending would be – but she knew she wanted Kara in it, whatever it was.

Kara let out a shaky breath that turned into a quiet laugh, her eyes shining now with tears she didn’t bother hiding. “I never imagined you’d be quoting my own lines to me,” she said, a hint of wryness colouring her awe.

“They were good lines,” Lena quipped softly, the ghost of a tease in her tone. Her own eyes pricked with tears now, seeing Kara like this – open, unguarded, and truly here with her. Lena had spent so many nights wondering if she’d ever see this version of Kara again, the one who wasn’t keeping secrets or walls between them.

Kara pressed her forehead to Lena’s once more. “I meant every word of them,” she murmured. “Even before I knew how everything would fall apart. Even when I thought I’d lost you… you were still the ending I wanted.” A tear slipped down Kara’s cheek at the admission, catching on Lena’s thumb as she gently brushed it away.

For a long moment, Lena could only gaze at the woman in front of her, stunned by the swell of emotion threatening to overtake her. How strange that in a room lit by warning lights, with a terrorist trussed at their feet and a narrowly averted disaster behind them, she would feel such peace, such rightness. Kara had a way of doing that – turning chaos into clarity, fear into purpose.

A faint crackle came from Kara’s comm, interrupting the fragile silence. "Kara? Lena? Is everything under control? We’ve got a visual on one hostile unconscious outside and another in the control room. Local authorities are ten minutes out. Sitrep, please." It was Alex’s voice, edged with concern.

Kara exhaled in a soft huff of reluctant amusement, pulling back just enough to click the comm on. “We’re fine, Alex,” she replied, eyes never leaving Lena’s. “Reactor is secure. One hostile in custody here, as you saw, and no casualties.” She paused, and a proud smile touched her lips. “Lena succeeded. Crisis averted.”

They heard Alex’s sigh of relief across the airwaves. "Thank God. Good work, both of you. Secure the area and sit tight – cleanup is inbound." In the background, the muffled sounds of the DEO team mobilising were audible.

“Copy that,” Kara responded. She tapped her earpiece off again and quirked an eyebrow at Lena. “Cleanup and paperwork. The glamorous part of saving the day.”

Lena chuckled softly. Already the intensity of the last minutes was mellowing into a lightness, buoyed by triumph and relief. “Can’t be worse than grant reports and board meetings, trust me.”

Kara’s expression grew thoughtful. She studied Lena in the amber glow, taking in the smudges of dirt on her cheeks, the way a strand of Lena’s raven hair had come loose from its braid and now hung curling at her temple. Whatever Kara saw made something gentle and awestruck cross her face. “You know,” Kara said softly, brushing that wayward lock behind Lena’s ear, “there’s one thing I haven’t asked in a while.”

Lena tilted her head slightly, curious. “What’s that?”

Kara’s hand slid down from Lena’s ear to cup her jaw, thumb caressing just below Lena’s cheekbone. There was a nervous tint to Kara’s smile now, belying the playful lilt of her voice. “Do you trust me yet?”

The question hung between them, weighted with history. It was the same question Kara had asked on that fateful night of their last mission together, just before everything came undone – Lena recalled it in a flash: Kara, battered and bleeding after the fight with Edge’s men, had looked at her with such hope and despair intermingled and asked that very question. Lena’s answer then had been silence, tears, and a heart too broken to respond. Even earlier tonight, as they’d prepared for this mission, trust had still been the uncertain undercurrent between them.

Kara’s hand trembled ever so slightly against Lena’s skin now as she awaited an answer. Kara tried to mask it with a reassuring grin, but Lena knew this mattered deeply. Trust wasn’t a switch to be flipped; it was an anchor being slowly lowered, finding purchase bit by bit in steadier ground.

Lena took a slow breath, then met Kara’s gaze head-on. Her answer was soft, but crystal clear. “No. But I love you anyway.”

Kara stared at her, stunned, and Lena realised this was the first time she had spoken those three words aloud with full clarity. I love you. They’d lived in her heart, had been shown in gestures, implied in promises, but never declared so nakedly until now.

A radiant smile slowly dawned over Kara’s features, more brilliant than any sunrise Lena had ever seen. Relief, joy, and devotion all at once transformed her face. Kara’s voice was thick with emotion as she answered, “I love you too, Lena. With all that I am.”

There was a reverence in Kara’s tone that made Lena’s heart swell. Kara lifted their joined hands and pressed a fervent kiss to the back of Lena’s, then to her fingertips, as if to seal those words into her skin. Lena felt tears slip free and trail down her cheeks, and she let them. These were not sorrow’s tears, but something closer to gratitude.

“I know trust isn’t easy for us,” Kara went on softly. “I broke it, and I will spend however long it takes to earn it back. Day by day, step by step. I’m not going anywhere, Lena. I’m yours – if you’ll have me.”

A gentle laugh escaped Lena, full of affection. “Idiot,” she murmured fondly, using the word not as an insult but as an endearment, the way she once never could have imagined addressing Kara Danvers. She reached up and drew Kara into a kiss.

It was a tender meeting of lips, tasting of salt from tears and the faint smokiness in the air. Kara responded immediately, her hand tightening around Lena’s, her other arm circling Lena’s back, pulling her closer. For a moment, time stopped. There were no flashing lights, no distant sirens or approaching footsteps – just the warmth of Kara’s mouth, the softness of her breath as she murmured wordless affection against Lena’s lips, and Lena pouring all her unspoken love and hope into that kiss.

When they finally parted, Lena rested her forehead against Kara’s, both of them breathing a little unsteadily. “I already have you,” Lena whispered, answering Kara’s earlier plea. “And you have me. That’s the only reason we’re both here right now.”

Kara closed her eyes and nodded, as if letting those words wash over her, heal some last lingering wound inside. Outside, through the broken window, the first faint hint of dawn lightened the horizon, a deep blue bleeding into the black of night. They hadn’t noticed the darkness yielding to morning until now.

The sky over the moorland looked vast and quiet, as if nothing extraordinary had happened here. But Lena felt the profound shift in her world. One story was ending: the desperate, uncertain chapter that had begun when Kara entered her life under false pretences. That chapter had seen them fall apart and come back together stronger than before. And now it had closed – not with a tidy fairytale finality, but with the promise of tomorrow and the hard-won trust that tomorrow could be better than yesterday.

Lena thought of Kara’s words again: She made me want to be the ending. Kara had never sought to be part of anyone’s story, never wanted to be the grand romance or the tragedy. Yet here they were, each of them indelibly written into the other’s narrative. Lena knew now that ending didn’t mean finish or farewell. It meant goal. Destination. Kara was her ending, and she was Kara’s – and every day they would continue writing that story together.

Kara’s thumb gently swept across Lena’s cheek, wiping away a tear there. “Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, voice warm and teasingly gentle.

Lena smiled, turning her face to press a kiss into Kara’s palm. “I was just thinking about how this isn’t really an ending at all.” Her gaze drifted past Kara to the brightening sky. “It’s more like a beginning.”

Kara followed her line of sight, and a soft, amazed expression settled on her features as dawn broke in earnest, casting pale gold light across the rugged landscape. “Beginning of what?” she prompted.

Lena met Kara’s eyes, her heart steady and sure. “Everything,” she said simply. “Whatever comes next. New stories. New missions. Us.” The last word she uttered with particular wonder – us. Who would have thought that after all the lies and heartbreak, they would have an us that felt this strong?

Kara’s answering grin was bright and a touch impish. “Us,” she repeated. “I like the sound of that.” She then tilted her head and added with mock gravity, “Though I could do with a bit less of the ‘new missions’ part for a few weeks at least. A nice long holiday sounds tempting after tonight.”

Lena laughed softly and finally stepped back, though she kept hold of Kara’s hand. The faint aches of the night’s exertion were catching up to her, but she felt light on her feet, buoyed by happiness. “I won’t argue with that. We’ve more than earned a break. Perhaps somewhere without rogue agents or eco-terrorists.”

“Mm, I hear the Maldives are lovely this time of year,” Kara joked, giving Lena’s hand a swing as they turned toward the exit. Her eyes flicked once to the bound saboteur. “We’ll have to ship him off to lockup first, though.”

Lena shook her head with a rueful smile. Even now, humour. It felt good – normal – to slip into easy banter after a night of life-or-death stakes. That normalcy was something she wouldn’t take for granted. “Minor details,” she replied lightly.

They walked out of the control room together, shoulders brushing. The early morning chill greeted them as they stepped through the doorway into open air, but Kara’s hand in Lena’s kept her warm. In the east, the sun was just cresting the horizon, painting the sky in bands of rose and gold. The worst of the night was over, and a new day beckoned.

Below, near the access gate where they’d first entered, Lena could make out the dark-clad figures of the DEO response team sweeping the area. Even from afar she recognised Alex’s confident stride and the distinctive outline of Lucy standing guard. They would handle the rest from here.

Lena squeezed Kara’s hand and took in a deep lungful of crisp morning air laced with the scent of dew and faint smoke. “Ready to face the music?” she asked softly.

Kara glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “Alex’s debriefing and probably a lecture about taking risks with you in the field? Can’t wait.” Her tone was wry, but then she turned fully to Lena, eyes earnest once more. “But whatever she says, I’m glad you were here with me.”

“Me too,” Lena replied, and meant it with every fibre of her being. She had proven something to herself tonight – that fear no longer dictated her choices. That she could step into the fray and hold her own. With Kara beside her, she could face anything.

They started forward, walking slowly back toward the compound entrance. As they went, Kara slipped an arm around Lena’s waist, a subtle but unmistakable claim of closeness. Lena leaned into her, contentment blooming in her chest despite the fatigue settling in her bones. In the light of dawn, the horrors of the night looked small and far away. What loomed larger was the path ahead – unknown but no longer faced alone.

Behind them, the facility would need repairs, systems would need to be rebuilt, data analysed. The captured operative would be interrogated; he might lead them to others in the eco-terror network. There were threads to follow, loose ends to tie – hints of more danger lurking just out of sight. Lena knew this victory was only one chapter in a larger battle. There were always new threats on the horizon, new villains who would rise as the old ones fell. Edge’s downfall hadn’t ended the fight, and stopping this cell tonight wouldn’t end it either. The work would continue.

Once, that knowledge would have filled Lena with dread – an endless cycle of peril threatening to consume her life. But now, oddly, it gave her hope. Because it meant a future, and futures could be shaped. Because it meant she and Kara had purpose and tomorrows to share.

Lena found herself recalling a line from one of Kara’s favourite novels, something about how every ending was just the place where you decide to stop telling the story. She couldn’t remember the exact phrasing, but standing here she understood it viscerally. This wasn’t the place their story stopped. In many ways, it had only just begun.

Kara seemed to read her silence and the slight smile playing on Lena’s lips. “Penny for those thoughts?” she asked as they neared the waiting team, echoing her earlier question but with a playful nudge.

Lena glanced at Kara, the sunrise casting a halo behind Kara’s blonde hair. A surge of affection nearly overwhelmed her; instead she mustered a serene, sincere expression. “I was thinking about how I’m looking forward to writing the next chapter,” she said.

Kara’s face lit up, whether at Lena’s words or the double meaning behind them – after all, Kara had once literally written chapters as a cover story to get close to Lena. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Together,” Kara affirmed softly. Not as a question, but a promise.

“Together,” Lena echoed.

As they stepped through the fence, Alex broke away from the cluster of agents to meet them, her gaze sweeping over them for injuries and finding none beyond Kara’s minor cut. Relief and a touch of exasperation warred on her face, but Lena barely registered Alex’s approach. In that moment, she was aware only of Kara’s hand secure in hers and the quiet dawn stretching out before them.

Whatever came next – whatever threats or trials – they would face it side by side. Lena had learned to hope again, to trust slowly but surely, and to love without holding back. That was the true triumph tonight, more than averting disaster or catching criminals. In saving others, they had also saved the fragile, precious thing growing between them.

The first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, illuminating the two women walking forward. Lena lifted her chin, greeted by the warmth of a new day on her face. A hopeful smile tugged at her lips as she and Kara moved toward whatever awaited, together.

It wasn’t a happily-ever-after, not exactly. It was something more realistic, more challenging – and far more beautiful. It was a beginning, and Lena was ready to embrace it, hand in hand with the woman who had finally allowed her to believe in endings.