The warehouse smelled of rust, old smoke, and something faintly metallic. Lois Lane’s heels clicked against the concrete floor, echoing in the cavernous space. She had been following the trail of chaos for weeks—leads that had all pointed to the Joker’s latest scheme—but tonight, it felt different. The city lights barely filtered in through cracked windows, casting pale, uneven streaks across the crates and machinery.

She froze when she saw you. You leaned against a stack of crates, your knife catching the dim light. You didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched Lois with sharp, calculating eyes that made her chest tighten in ways she couldn’t name.

Lois swallowed, forcing her voice steady. “This is a crime scene. I should call this in.”

You didn’t answer. You tilted your head slightly, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips, and stepped forward, just a fraction. The air between you pulsed with tension. Lois felt her pulse spike, her instincts both warning her to run and rooting her to the spot.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lois said softly, lowering her camera. “I’ve seen you—there’s more to you than... this.”