Shadowflame

Alright, so picture this: I'm at a UN summit with Superman, Wonder Woman, and half the superhero population, and instead of flexing our world-saving skills, we're... fixing chairs. And walls. And the occasional shattered window. Yeah, not exactly the epic showdown you'd expect. But, hey, when you've got super strength and magic on your side, you might as well play construction crew, right?

I take a deep breath, summoning my magic. With a wave of my hand, rubble starts to lift and piece itself back together like a reverse Jenga game. Superman, looking as casual as if he's picking up a milk carton, carries a chunk of wall past me.

"Nice work, Shadowflame," he says, like we're doing something mildly impressive, like reorganizing a closet.

I smirk. "Thanks, Supes. You too. You make rebuilding national monuments look way too easy."

A few feet away, Wonder Woman and Donna are reassembling tables. Donna's laughing as she smacks a leg back into place. "One of these days, I'd like to attend a summit where I don't end up having to rebuild it."

Wonder Woman chuckles. "Welcome to the job, Donna. It's part of the package."

Overhead, Supergirl's welding a window frame with her heat vision, while Starfire and Mareena are tackling the last of the debris. Mareena catches my eye, gives me a thumbs-up, and I can't help but grin back. Supergirl and Starfire have been all but pushing her toward me, like some overenthusiastic matchmakers, and let's just say I'm not complaining.

With the final chunk of marble in place, Superman claps his hands together like he's finishing up a light workout. "Looks good. Think we're ready for round two."

Aqualad raises an eyebrow, looking around at our now-miraculously-unwrecked surroundings. "Let's just hope round two doesn't involve mind-controlled allies."

I snort, clapping him on the shoulder. "Not if I have anything to say about it. Next time, we'll scare off the villains before they can start hypnotizing people."

Then, like the universe had been reading our minds, Kid Flash zooms in, looking as smug as a guy who's found the last fry in the bottom of the bag. "So, uh, anyone else craving burgers? Because I could go for another round of Big Belly Burger. Or five."

Right on cue, my stomach growls like it's auditioning for the next Jurassic Park. "Burgers sound fantastic," I say, laughing as I look around at the group. It's these little post-chaos moments, everyone sharing a laugh, that make it all worth it. Villains? Mind control? Whatever. We're the clean-up crew, and we're also the crew that can probably demolish a record number of burgers in one sitting.

Wonder Woman comes over and gives me a nod, one of those mentor-y, proud smiles that still kind of makes me feel like a kid. "Good job, Harry. You handled all this chaos well."

I rub the back of my neck, trying to downplay it. "Eh, it's all in a day's work, right?" I glance over at Mareena, who gives me a smile that—well, let's just say it's a nice little bonus on top of the compliment.

And as we're heading out to finally snag those burgers, Robin's already planning his quickest route to the nearest burger joint with Kid Flash's help, probably ready to start gossiping about my love life before we even hit the drive-thru. Meanwhile, back at the summit, they're all gearing up to get back to business, and we'll be here, on standby.

Welcome to my life as Shadowflame: where "saving the world" often comes with a side of "please rebuild half of it" and the promise of burgers. Not a bad day's work if you ask me.

—

Just as the dust finally settles and we're patting ourselves on the back, here comes King Josef Vladek, looking exactly like you'd expect a royal to look: regal, a little intense, but with that grateful gleam in his eye. Right next to him? A little girl, about nine years old, with big brown eyes and a serious expression that makes her look like she's seen too much of this kind of chaos.

Perdita is her name. She's the princess—yep, actual princess—and for the past half-hour, she's been dodging explosive arrows and mind-controlled heroes like it's an everyday thing. She's got more poise than half the people here, though, and there's no denying she's brave.

King Josef stops in front of us, gives a nod to each hero in turn. "Thank you," he says, his voice heavy with that kind of gratitude that goes beyond words. "You've saved our lives. My daughter and I owe you all…everything."

Wonder Woman, ever the diplomat, steps forward and smiles down at Perdita, her voice softening. "No thanks needed, Your Majesty. We're just glad you're both safe."

Perdita, who's apparently not as reserved as she looked, perks up. "Do you fight villains like that every day?" Her voice is filled with curiosity, and she looks at each of us like she's assessing our villain-fighting potential.

I can't resist. I grin and kneel down to her level. "Well, not every day. Some days we're just rebuilding walls and cleaning up rubble. That's the glamorous part no one tells you about."

She lets out a tiny laugh, her eyes sparkling. "I think I could do that part," she says, crossing her arms with a serious nod.

Aqualad chuckles beside me. "Something tells me you'd handle it just fine, Princess."

King Josef places a hand on her shoulder, looking a bit more at ease. "Thank you again, all of you. If it weren't for your bravery, well…" He lets the sentence hang, but we all know what he means.

And then, because there's no escape from the post-crisis hero spotlight, the UN staff starts gathering us back toward the summit hall. Perdita waves at us as she and her dad head back to their seats. Just before she's out of sight, she calls, "Next time, don't let my uncle come to the summit!"

I raise an eyebrow at Aqualad, who gives me a half-shrug that says, Can't argue with her there.

—-

G. Gordon Godfrey leans back in his leather chair, hands folded in that trademark "trust me, I know better than you" way, giving his viewers a half-smile that's as insincere as they come. He waits for the camera to zoom in just enough before he unleashes his sermon.

"Folks, I think we've reached a turning point. We all saw what happened at the UN Summit today. Supposedly, it was supposed to be a place for peace—a place where world leaders could come together to ensure our safety. But what did we actually get? Utter chaos. Explosions. Heroes running amok, all under the command of aliens, superhumans, and who-knows-what!"

A carefully edited clip flickers onto the screen. Vertigo and Queen Bee blasting through walls. Civilians ducking for cover as rubble rains down. An unsteady shot of Wonder Woman fighting mind-controlled heroes, carefully framed to make it look as if she's attacking everyone in sight. Superman, glaring out from the smoke like he's some kind of alien overlord surveying his latest conquest.

"And let's be honest," Godfrey continues, voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper, "these so-called heroes? They're not like us. Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter—they're outsiders. Aliens. They don't have our values. They don't share our concerns. They don't understand what it means to be human. Yet we're just supposed to trust them to protect us? To safeguard our interests?"

He leans in closer, eyes gleaming with manufactured outrage. "Superman could level a city with one punch. Wonder Woman—she's a warrior trained since childhood to fight in wars we can't even imagine. And the Martian? Well, he can read minds, folks. He could be listening to you right now. So tell me—how do we know they're really on our side?"

Godfrey pauses, letting his words hang in the air like a storm cloud. The audience, or at least those who don't know better, are left with the image of heroes lurking in shadows, waiting to strike. He doesn't give them time to second-guess, though, as he jumps to his next point, his voice laced with mock concern.

"And don't get me started on the collateral damage. Every time they step in to 'save the day,' it's like they leave a trail of destruction behind them. Skyscrapers cracked in half, innocent people injured or killed in the crossfire, businesses ruined. The only ones safe in their world seem to be them. And who pays for the clean-up, hmm? That's right—you and me, the hardworking taxpayers of Earth. Because the Justice League? They're too busy playing gods to worry about the mess they leave behind."

A quick cut to a clip of civilians running, ducking, dodging. The Justice League nowhere to be seen—only chaos, fear, and devastation. Perfectly edited to convey a single message: heroes are just as dangerous as the villains they fight.

"Now let me ask you," Godfrey says, voice dripping with feigned empathy, "how many times do we have to let these…superpowered monsters tear apart our cities before we say enough? How long before we wake up and see what's really going on here? They claim to be heroes, protectors, defenders. But do they answer to us? No. They answer to no one but themselves."

He leans back, letting out a sigh like he's just delivered some hard truth. "If they're so powerful, so infallible, why don't they submit to oversight? Why won't they let our elected officials set some guidelines—some rules? Because they know that with real accountability, we'd start to see them for what they are."

The lights in the studio dim slightly as Godfrey delivers his final line with chilling gravitas, a deliberate effect meant to leave his audience with a sense of creeping dread.

"They claim to protect us. But how long before they decide to rule us?"

—

Lois sighed as she watched G. Gordon Godfrey's face light up on the screen, all righteous fury and apocalyptic nonsense. The man had a knack for turning everyday events into the opening scenes of a disaster movie.

"Folks," he was saying, leaning into the camera like he was delivering state secrets. "We have aliens at our doorstep, Amazons who think they're gods, and vigilantes with magic fire. How long before they decide they don't need us regular folk?"

Lois rolled her eyes. "Right. Superman's just itching to declare himself king of Earth."

And as if on cue, the balcony door slid open, and in strolled Clark—well, Superman—still in full costume, like he'd just popped out to grab some milk from the corner store. He looked between the screen, her half-finished article on the laptop, and the empty coffee cup she'd left for him on the table, taking it all in with a raised eyebrow.

"Godfrey again?" Clark asked, moving to the table.

Lois gestured at the screen. "Yep. Apparently, you're one power trip away from world domination. Oh, and Shadowflame's magic fire? Definitely a global threat."

Clark shook his head, chuckling as he sank into the chair next to her. "We spent more time patching up that building than fighting. Wonder Woman fixed the flag display twice—Vertigo kept knocking it over just to annoy her."

Lois smirked. "And Godfrey's acting like you guys brought the whole place down. It's almost impressive how good he is at bending the facts."

Clark looked up at the screen where Godfrey was now passionately claiming that "just yesterday," Superman had nearly "razed" a historic building.

Clark groaned. "We welded the walls back together, Lois. Welded. Shadowflame was practically running janitor duty."

Lois put a hand on his arm. "Look, Smallville, Godfrey's great at spinning the truth, but you've got me, the next best thing to Superman when it comes to fighting for truth and justice."

Clark gave her a warm look. "Think the article will help?"

"Absolutely," Lois said, her fingers already tapping out a paragraph on her laptop. "People need to know you're out there every day risking your life—not trying to take over the world."

Clark managed a small smile. "I'd be lost without you."

Lois grinned, still typing. "Yeah, well, don't forget it. You'd probably be a hot mess, Smallville."

Unseen by both of them, the scene in Clark's mind was far from lighthearted. A shadow shifted, a low, malicious laugh echoing in the back of his mind. Trigon, deep in the hidden corners of Clark's psyche, had heard every word.

The best lies are rooted in truth, Trigon thought with a smirk, feeding off the quiet doubts and flickers of mistrust that people like Godfrey stirred up. Keep it up, Gordon. Sooner or later, they'll all start to wonder which side their heroes are really on.

For now, Trigon was content to watch, a dormant force in Superman's subconscious, biding his time. He knew that with just a few nudges here and there, people would start to question every move their heroes made. And when the doubt finally became too much? Well, he'd be ready.

—

We'd barely stepped out of the Zeta Tube at Mount Justice before the complaints started rolling in. And no, not from the Justice League—or from me, for that matter. Nope, it was the TV that decided to give us all an earful. Or, more specifically, G. Gordon Godfrey on the TV, spouting his usual anti-Justice League nonsense.

I was pretty sure everyone in the room was thinking the same thing: I wish somebody would knock that guy off his soapbox. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Fred, and George were already camped out around the big screen, all looking equally horrified and disgusted. Ron looked up and shot me a weary look.

"Who do you think is worse?" he asked. "Godfrey or Rita Skeeter?"

"Ugh, that's like comparing a troll with a Blast-Ended Skrewt," I muttered. "But fine, I'll bite. Godfrey's worse. At least Rita sticks to the tabloids. Godfrey? He's practically the face of fearmongering now, and he's got a global audience."

Kara, one of my amazing girlfriends and also the best partner in crime when it comes to spotting nonsense, pointed at the TV with a dramatic eye roll. "Please tell me this guy isn't still going on about us aliens 'invading Earth,'" she groaned. "Like we don't have better things to do."

"Oh, yeah," I said, slumping onto the couch. "You'd think after saving a few lives at the Summit, he'd cut us some slack. But no, here we are, apparently part of some plot to take over the world."

"People like him are why reporters get a bad rep," muttered Ginny, arms crossed. "He's twisting the truth for his own gain, and people eat it up."

"And the worst part?" Hermione added, looking just about ready to launch into a full-blown rant. "He knows he's lying. But he preys on fear. He twists everything until it sounds just believable enough for people to start doubting us."

"Like Rita," Remus agreed, crossing his arms. "But with a bigger platform and way more paranoia."

I raised an eyebrow at Sirius, hoping he'd have some idea to mess with Godfrey in only the way he could. He looked at me, and I swear he was thinking the same thing. He flashed me a mischievous grin. "Give me five minutes, and he'll be cursed with pink hair and singing his own theme song every time he opens his mouth."

"Sold," I replied, snickering.

Kara nudged my arm, looking serious. "But really, Harry. What's our plan? If people keep believing him, it'll just keep spreading."

"We counter him with the truth," I said, and I meant it. "Lois is on it. She and Clark were at the Summit too, and she's writing up a firsthand account. I trust her to keep it honest."

Kara's hand squeezed my shoulder. "Then we'll make sure people read it. People need the truth, even if they're scared of it."

"Yeah, well, here's to that!" George raised his soda in a mock toast, a grin spreading across his face. "To truth and annoying troublemakers like Godfrey!"

We all clinked our cans and cups together, with Sirius muttering something about sending Godfrey a "little surprise." And as I looked around at everyone, laughing and groaning at Godfrey's antics, I knew we'd face whatever came next—together, as always.

—

In the background, Raven hovered quietly, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and her hood drawn low over her face. She'd been with us at Mount Justice for about a week, ever since her dad—the demonic overlord Trigon, aka "bad dad of the century"—had finally been booted out of her head for good. Or so we hoped.

She didn't usually chime in on these kinds of conversations, and honestly, I couldn't blame her. But as our chat shifted from laughing about Godfrey's idiocy to discussing the dangers his words actually posed, Raven tilted her head just slightly, listening intently.

"Think he even knows half the lies he's spewing?" Ron asked, frowning at the screen. "Or is he just saying anything that'll stick?"

Raven's voice was low but carried across the room. "Fear makes people easy to control." She glanced at the TV, eyes narrowed. "People like Godfrey thrive on it. It's a doorway, a crack he can widen and turn into something much worse."

Hermione nodded, giving Raven a supportive smile. "Exactly. And Godfrey's doing everything he can to make sure that crack stays open."

Raven's gaze dropped, her voice barely above a whisper, but we could all hear the weight behind it. "Trust me—once fear gets a foothold, it's hard to get rid of."

I wanted to say something encouraging, something that would remind her she wasn't alone and that we had her back. But before I could even start, Kara beat me to it, stepping up beside Raven and nudging her gently.

"You're tougher than any fear he could ever stir up," Kara said with a smile. "You've already beaten the biggest monster in your life. Godfrey? Just another guy with a microphone."

Raven gave a small, almost invisible smile. It was gone as soon as it appeared, but that's Raven for you. But when she nodded back at Kara, it was like she was letting herself believe it—just for a second—that maybe she wasn't alone in all this.

She pulled her hood down lower and went back to her quiet spot in the corner, but there was something lighter in her stance. And as the conversation carried on around us, I noticed her listening a little more closely, like maybe she was finally starting to feel like one of the team.

—

"Truth, Justice, and Fear-Mongering: The Real Story Behind the UN Summit Attack"

By Lois Lane, The Daily Planet

Metropolis — In a world where heroes save us from supervillains, ancient curses, and the occasional alien invasion, you'd think we'd all be able to agree on one thing: They're the good guys.

But not according to G. Gordon Godfrey, who, just hours after the recent attack on the UN Summit, launched into a tirade against our world's heroes. Godfrey, a popular television pundit with a vocal stance against "alien interference," spent the better part of his show questioning whether heroes like Superman, Wonder Woman, and their allies do more harm than good.

Now, let's be clear about what actually happened. Vertigo and Queen Bee, known criminals with rap sheets longer than a Kryptonian's flight path, attacked a peaceful assembly of world leaders. Thanks to the swift and tireless efforts of the Justice League, particularly Superman and Shadowflame (who not only defended attendees but also used his abilities to repair damages), the threat was neutralized, and the event was saved.

Godfrey, however, wasted no time spinning this attack to fuel his anti-hero agenda. He claims that the heroes' presence "invites danger," a statement that not only disregards their role in stopping the villains but also ignores the reality of the situation. The League's intervention prevented untold casualties and protected leaders from around the world.

We live in a world where heroes like Superman and Shadowflame risk their lives daily without asking for anything in return. Yet Godfrey would have us believe they're the enemy—encouraging fear and suspicion, hoping his audience will see heroes as threats rather than protectors.

The truth is, attacks like these aren't proof that our heroes bring danger. They're proof of the dangers we face and the importance of those willing to stand against them. Godfrey's rhetoric is designed to undermine trust, to make us question the very people who fight to keep us safe.

So before we let fear-mongering voices rewrite reality, let's remember one thing: The heroes may wear capes, fly, or wield powers beyond our understanding, but they're still fighting for us. And that's the truth that truly matters.

Lois Lane is an award-winning journalist for the Daily Planet, dedicated to bringing the truth to Metropolis and beyond.

—

Metropolis was buzzing, practically humming with debates that echoed from corner to corner, like a chorus of opposing opinions. In Cozy Cup Café, two tables had practically turned into rival debate teams. Lois Lane's article lay open on half the tables, while a rerun of G. Gordon Godfrey's show scrolled across TV screens mounted near the espresso machines.

"I'm telling you, Lois Lane was there! You think she's gonna lie? She saw the League save the whole Summit," argued a woman with a tablet in hand, brandishing it like it held the absolute truth.

"Oh, come on," her friend shot back, rolling his eyes. "Godfrey's just saying what a lot of us are thinking. These heroes go out there, do their thing, and we're left picking up the pieces. Who's paying for all those damages?"

At the next table, a man reading the Daily Planet put down his coffee. "The League fixed the mess. Shadowflame even repaired the building with magic or whatever! You don't see Godfrey mentioning that part, do you?"

Meanwhile, a few blocks away at Mama Joe's Diner, an older man shook his head as he read the op-ed column. "I don't trust that Godfrey, but Lois Lane can't be objective either. She's practically the League's PR at this point. What happened to journalistic neutrality?"

"Yeah, but Godfrey's got an agenda, and everyone knows it," argued a young waitress as she refilled his coffee. "He's just doing this for the views, isn't he?"

"Oh, so you're saying we just ignore all the collateral damage and trust heroes just because they say so? That's exactly what Godfrey's been warning about," the man replied, voice rising.

Over in Gotham, the atmosphere was somehow both grimmer and more animated. At Finnigan's Pub, an exhausted construction worker grumbled as he swiped through Godfrey's social media feed. "All I'm saying is, if Batman and Superman are so great, why's it Gotham and Metropolis always getting trashed? Heroes show up, the villains come with them."

Another guy at the bar, a regular, smirked into his pint. "Yeah, but you're forgetting half the goons running around would be worse without Batman keeping them in line. You want to go a night without him around?"

A woman, who'd been listening in, chimed in. "You really think Godfrey's got any real solutions? Half the time he's just spouting anti-alien nonsense. He's got a personal vendetta, not a plan."

"Maybe he does," countered a young guy nearby, leaning in. "But his point stands—Superman's not one of us. None of them are. Who's watching them?"

Meanwhile, Central City was as split as the rest, though Flash's hometown had its own quirks. At Mary's Diner, a group of regulars were throwing ideas around like they were as fast as their hometown hero. "Look, Lois Lane isn't about to sugarcoat anything. She's been on the League's side from the start, and if she's saying they cleaned up the place, I believe her," said an older woman, tapping her cane against the floor with conviction.

A man across from her shook his head. "Godfrey's right about one thing: we're inviting all kinds of chaos. You think Lois Lane can guarantee nothing will ever go wrong?"

"Nothing ever goes right when Flash isn't around, either," laughed a teen nearby, sipping a milkshake. "I'm just saying, I'd rather have a speedster dodging around us than half these criminals roaming free. Godfrey can sit on his soapbox, but I know who actually shows up when things go sideways."

The man with the milkshake shook his head, clearly unconvinced. "Today it's Flash. Tomorrow, who knows? Godfrey's got a point: these heroes are starting to look more like demigods than people. Who's holding them accountable?"

These debates echoed from neighborhood to neighborhood. Lois Lane's piece had the city talking, and G. Gordon Godfrey's fiery retort had thrown gasoline on the fire. Even in high-end cafés in Central City and the seedier bars of Gotham, people weighed the pros and cons of a world where superpowers walked the streets, while Godfrey's voice rang out across TV screens like an ominous drumbeat, fueling every new argument and filling every conversation with questions no one seemed able to answer.

—

In the Batcave, under the dim lights that flickered over rows of crime-fighting gadgets and a massive, glowing computer screen, Alfred descended the stairs with his usual grace. A silver tray balanced in his hands held a teapot, two cups, and an assortment of Alfred's handpicked biscuits. Even in the midst of a rhetorical war, as Gotham's two heroes watched replays of Godfrey's show and read snippets from Lois Lane's article, there was no need to compromise on tea.

Alfred set the tray down next to Bruce, who was leaning forward, analyzing every word that flickered on the screen. Dick, perched beside him, rolled his eyes at yet another inflammatory line from Godfrey that scrolled by.

"More tea, Master Bruce?" Alfred inquired with a raised eyebrow, filling Bruce's cup before he even replied.

Bruce took a sip and nodded in appreciation, though his gaze remained fixed on the screen. "Godfrey is dangerous. He knows how to fuel fear—he makes us look like a ticking bomb waiting to go off."

Alfred glanced at the screen and then back to his two charges. "I've no doubt Mr. Godfrey is excellent at twisting the narrative to his advantage, sir. However, it would seem Miss Lane is, fortunately, quite adept at reminding the public of a little thing called 'facts.'"

"True, but facts only go so far," Dick chimed in, munching on a biscuit. "People believe what they want to believe, especially when someone like Godfrey is feeding their paranoia. The more he talks, the more he makes it sound like we're this big, shadowy threat."

Bruce leaned back, fingers steepled thoughtfully. "Which is exactly what he wants. But I fear it's more than that; it's not just fear-mongering—it's strategy. Every word Godfrey says is about dividing us, getting the public to lose faith in what we do. And Lois... well, she's doing her best, but she's fighting an uphill battle."

"Indeed," Alfred nodded, folding his hands as he considered the broader picture. "Miss Lane's article is commendable, if I may say so. And yet, one does wonder if the public's general distrust is as much due to our own secrecy as to Mr. Godfrey's influence. It might do to consider—on a more long-term basis—a tad more transparency?"

Dick smirked. "You're suggesting we start doing PR, Alfred? Maybe set up a Bat Instagram?"

Alfred's expression remained stoic, but there was a glint of humor in his eye. "I'm merely suggesting that a well-timed photo or two of Gotham's finest helping a kitten out of a tree might counteract the image of us lurking in the shadows, Master Dick."

Bruce looked between them, a faint smile forming despite the circumstances. "I don't think the city's ready for the Dark Knight on social media," he said, but there was a thoughtful pause. "Still, Alfred has a point. Maybe it's time we worked a bit more on showing the public we're here to protect them, not just fight threats they can't see."

Dick perked up, nudging Bruce. "See? We're practically trendsetters already. Maybe next, we can tackle that whole Bat-signal rebranding project."

Alfred cleared his throat, refilling Dick's cup. "Gentlemen, if I might suggest—perhaps there's no harm in allowing the city a glimpse at the humanity behind the mask. Mr. Godfrey's rhetoric may resonate because of our... shall we say... 'less personable' approach."

Bruce glanced at the screen one more time, watching as Godfrey delivered his closing words, practically dripping with veiled threats. He nodded slowly. "Point taken, Alfred. Maybe it's time for Gotham to see us as more than shadows."

Alfred raised his teacup in a toast-like gesture. "Very good, sir. Now, if I might suggest, let us begin this new era by not forgetting to eat. Heroism is hardly achievable on an empty stomach."

Dick laughed, snagging another biscuit. "He's got a point, Bruce. One victory at a time—starting with tea and biscuits."

And for just a moment, under the cool, steady hum of the Batcave, it felt like the shadowy defenders of Gotham might just manage to become a little more human to those they protected.

—

In a small, dimly lit apartment in a quieter part of Gotham, Artemis Crock sat across from her mom at the kitchen table, picking at the remnants of dinner. On the TV, Godfrey was at it again, spinning his web of lies and half-truths about the Justice League, aliens, and—predictably—the dangers of having superpowered heroes running around. Paula, her mom, was shaking her head, her face twisted in disappointment as Godfrey's voice droned on.

"Can you believe this guy?" Paula muttered, reaching over to grab the remote and turn the volume down. "Back when I was… doing things I'm not exactly proud of, we always saw the Justice League as these untouchable protectors. And now people think they're a threat? Ridiculous."

Artemis stifled a grin. It wasn't every day her mom dropped little gems like that about her past. Granted, Paula Crock's "questionable choices" were mostly ancient history, and Artemis respected that her mom had worked hard to leave that life behind. But hearing her mom talk about the League like they were old pals? That was new.

"Yeah, well," Artemis said, stirring her mashed potatoes, trying to keep her expression neutral, "people believe anything these days. Godfrey's got a big mouth and no filter." She rolled her eyes, watching her mom's reaction carefully.

Paula sighed. "I just don't get it, Artemis. He's making people afraid of the League, of heroes, of anyone trying to help. And for what? Ratings?" She shook her head again, more vigorously this time. "People need to see them for what they are—the ones standing between us and people like… well, people like I used to be."

Artemis glanced up, feeling a little pang in her chest. The whole vigilante thing was new to her, and she hadn't exactly mentioned it to her mom. But she knew why she was doing it: Gotham was dark, dangerous, and full of people who didn't have heroes swooping in to save them. People like her mom, who had no one to turn to when things got tough. Artemis wasn't about to sit on the sidelines and let Godfrey trash people who were out there risking everything.

"People are afraid of what they don't understand," Artemis said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "But, I mean, there's a lot they don't see. Like the cleanup, the quiet stuff heroes do after they save the day."

Her mom's eyes softened as she looked at her. "You sound like you've got some experience there, Artemis," she said with a slight smile.

Artemis shrugged, trying to brush it off. "Just… thinking out loud. Anyway, Godfrey's full of it. The League's done more good in one month than he's done in his entire life."

Paula reached over, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you see that, sweetheart. Just remember—standing up for what's right doesn't always mean you need to go looking for trouble."

Artemis felt her pulse quicken. "Of course, Mom," she said, flashing her most innocent smile. "I'm just a regular high schooler with homework, and the occasional weird opinion, remember?"

As her mom smiled, satisfied, Artemis allowed herself a small, private grin. "Regular" wasn't exactly in her vocabulary anymore, but for her mom's sake, she'd let her believe it. For now.

---

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