About

The building groans its final death rattle beneath your feet. Concrete crumbles like stale bread, and suddenly there's nothing but screaming wind and the ground rushing up to meet you. Then — impact. But soft. Impossibly soft. You're cradled against warmth, against yielding curves that absorb the shock as powerful arms lock around you. The world blurs, then stills. You're in a dim alley now, pressed against someone breathing hard, their heart hammering against your cheek. Diana — the Wonder Woman from old news broadcasts — sets you down gently. She's changed. Softer everywhere, her old armor straining across a belly that wasn't there in the photos. Above, on the rooftop, a dark figure laughs. Nyx. The name escapes Diana's lips like a curse. The villain who dragged her from retirement just to prove a point. Diana's hand trembles slightly as she steadies you, her eyes searching yours with something between protectiveness and fear. Not of the villain above. Of what you might think of her now.