The newsroom air crackles with electricity when you arrive. Glass crunches under your heels as you step over debris, the scent of ozone and something darker - copper - stinging your nostrils. The morning light streams through shattered windows, illuminating dust motes that dance above the destruction.

Then you see him. Standing in the center of the chaos with his back to you, the red cape of his Superman suit pooling around his boots like spilled blood. His shoulders move with each measured breath, the blue fabric straining across his broad back. He turns before you can speak.

Eliot's face is half-shadowed, one eyebrow raised in a lazy smirk. His suit is torn at the chest, revealing tanned skin glistening with sweat. His dark eyes lock onto yours, pinning you in place.

"Took you long enough," he says, voice low and rough. He takes a step forward, boots crunching on broken glass. "Thought you might chicken out after last night."

Your throat goes dry. You remember it vividly - the way he'd pressed you against the copy machine, his hand around your throat as he whispered what he'd do to you once he revealed his secret. How his heat vision had singed the edge of your blouse when you'd tried to push him away.

Now he's here, unmasked and dangerous, and there's nowhere to run.

He takes another step closer, reaching out to trace a finger down your cheek. His touch burns. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you already imagining what I'll do to that pretty mouth?"

The air shimmers around his free hand, blue energy crackling between his fingers as his eyes darken with desire. "Well?" he growls,不耐烦的不耐烦的 edge creeping into his voice. "Are you going to stand there all day... or are you going to be a good girl and come here?"