Sarah (POV)
Karen's voice trembled, breaking the tense silence. "Sarah?"
I raised a finger to my lips, signaling for quiet. "Shh," I whispered, glancing at the hitman sprawled out cold on the floor. "Don't make a sound. Close the door, then we'll talk."
Her eyes were wide, darting between me and the motionless body. She nodded, quickly shutting and locking the door with shaky hands.
I led her into the bedroom, away from the chaos. She collapsed onto the bed, clutching the blanket like it was her last line of defense. Her breathing was erratic—fear, confusion, disbelief all wrapped up in one.
"Who are you, really?" she blurted, her words spilling out like a floodgate had opened.
I hesitated, giving the situation a quick mental scan. How much do I tell her? Her gaze was sharp, demanding answers.
"I'm… a good person?" I offered, flashing a small, reassuring smile.
Her brows knit together. "A good person?" she repeated, clearly unconvinced. "You just happen to show up out of nowhere and save me? All for the good of humanity?"
"Alright, alright," I sighed, pulling back my hoodie and letting her get a good look at my face. "Let's start with the basics."
She studied me, the confusion in her eyes deepening.
"My real name is Kara Zor-El Vasìlissa. Haven't you heard of me?"
She blinked. "Should I have?"
I scratched the back of my head, trying not to cringe. "Granddaughter of Angelikì Vasìlissa? She fought in World War II alongside Captain America?"
The wheels in her head started turning. Recognition flickered in her eyes. "Wait… the billionaire girl who disappeared?"
"That's me," I said with a casual shrug. "Well, I didn't exactly disappear. More like I went off the grid for a while. Needed some space to figure things out—do my own thing."
Karen's face flickered between awe and disbelief.
"Okay," I continued, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "If what I'm about to show you blows your mind, try not to scream."
Her eyes narrowed, wariness creeping into her expression. She scooted back on the bed, which… honestly, stung a little. Do I really look that sketchy?
I shrugged it off, focusing on the task at hand. I slid my hand into the shadows near my side and pulled out a chilled water bottle. Karen's eyes practically popped out of her head as she gawked at it. Her mouth dropped open.
"You… just pulled that out of thin air?"
"Not exactly thin air," I said with a smirk, cracking open the bottle and pouring its contents into the space around us. The water didn't fall. Instead, it hovered—shimmering, weightless—before morphing into a delicate, crystalline ice flower.
I held it out, the frozen creation hovering just inches from her face.
Using magical energy was a bad idea, but I did not need that to manipulate the elements around me, it came naturally to me, like an extension of my being.
"Is this… magic?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper, a mix of awe and disbelief.
"Kind of," I replied. "But it's not just for show."
"For… fighting?"
I gave a single nod. "Protecting people who need protecting. Like you."
Karen's expression softened as the ice flower slowly melted into a fine drizzle, disappearing into the air. Her shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, I saw her fear start to give way to curiosity.
"Okay," I said, settling across from her. "Now, can you tell me what's going on?"
She drew in a shaky breath, her fingers twitching at the edge of the blanket. Slowly, she began to explain—her boss's shady dealings, the evidence she'd found, the suffocating fear that had been stalking her ever since.
I listened intently, nodding here and there, letting her get it all out without interrupting. When she finished, I found myself deep in thought, my chin resting on my hand.
Karen Page—her name carried so much weight. I couldn't help but think back to everything I knew about her from the Daredevil files. The woman who had uncovered Wilson Fisk's dark empire, the Kingpin of Crime. She'd gotten caught up in a mess of deception and corruption, her life shattered after the murder of her colleague, and the scandal that followed. It was Matt Murdock—Daredevil himself—who had pulled her from that darkness. Afterward, she'd worked alongside him and Foggy Nelson at Nelson & Murdock, becoming more than just a survivor but a fighter in her own right.
She was beautiful, fierce, loyal, and a force to be reckoned with. Karen had endured more than most people could imagine, battling with the law, fighting for justice, and confronting her own personal demons. Even after Matt had disappeared, presumed dead, she'd continued paying his rent, unable to let go of the man who had once been her partner, both in crime and in life.
But Karen's story wasn't a fairy tale. When Matt's ex, Elektra Natchios, returned to his life, Karen was left heartbroken.
I couldn't help but think of the unspoken rule—Old flames can reignite, consuming the new.
Her life had been defined by loss and tragedy—whether it was the murder of her colleague that she'd witnessed or the pain of unrequited love. Now, here she was, alive and breathing, but once again caught in a situation that felt like it came straight out of the Daredevil files. And where Karen Page was, Wilson Fisk—Kingpin—was never far behind.
Fisk wasn't just any criminal. The man controlled over 40% of the crime in this country. It was nearly impossible for anything to happen in Hell's Kitchen without it tracing back to him. Helping Karen wasn't just an option—it was inevitable. She was caught between the cracks of vulnerability and resilience, trapped in a fight against a criminal empire she couldn't escape. And me? I couldn't just walk away from that.
But going up against Fisk? That was a different beast entirely. You couldn't just storm his penthouse and burn it to the ground. Fisk wasn't a classic supervillain who wanted to watch the world burn. He was lawful evil—a man who believed in order, just a very twisted and oppressive kind of order. His tragic backstory and ruthless ambition had shaped him into a force to be reckoned with. Hell, the guy could go toe-to-toe with Spider-Man and even Captain America.
I could almost respect him in a twisted way. Fisk wasn't born into power—he earned it, brick by bloody brick. He was the monster Hell's Kitchen made, and in his own warped way, he kept the city from spiraling into total anarchy. Take Fisk out of the equation, and you'd have a different kind of hell to deal with.
Taking him on meant strategy. No hammers, no explosions—this required finesse.
I glanced at Karen. She was watching me, her blue eyes wide with fear. "Don't worry," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I'll take care of this. But you need to pack—everything you'll need for at least a couple of weeks."
Karen blinked, clearly thrown. "Wait, what? Why?"
"Because staying here isn't an option," I said, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Come stay with me in Brooklyn. You'll be safe there."
"B-but—" Her cheeks flushed, and she stammered, "I can't just—"
"Relax," I interrupted, flashing her a crooked grin. "My place is safer than Fort Knox."
Karen hesitated but finally nodded. "Okay... but..."
"I'll wait for you at the door, just in case there's a second hitman," I said, letting go of her hands, ready to leave.
Just as I turned to go, her voice stopped me.
"Sarah!"
Karen's hand gripped my arm with surprising strength, her fingers trembling. Her gaze darted toward her apartment.
"There's... there's a body in my living room." Her voice cracked. "Sarah, I'm scared. Can you stay while I pack?"
A body. Of course, there was. I'd completely forgotten about that.
"Yeah, sure," I said, frowning. "But the body? It can't stay here."
Karen stared at me, visibly confused. "What does that even mean?"
Instead of answering, I turned to the corpse of the hitman lying on her carpet. With a casual flick of my wrist, the shadows beneath him darkened, thickened, and twisted upward like living tendrils. Karen let out a gasp as black, spectral hands emerged from the floor, grabbing the lifeless form. Within seconds, the body sank into the inky void, vanishing without a trace.
When it was done, I dusted off my hands and turned back to Karen, grinning like I'd just cleaned up a coffee spill. "Problem solved."
Karen stared at me, slack-jawed. "What the hell just happened?"
"Cleanup," I said with a wink. "Now, get packing. I'll stand guard."
...
Half an hour later, Karen stood in the middle of the living room, flanked by two suitcases so enormous they could've been Great Danes in disguise. No kidding. I blinked at them, momentarily perplexed.
"I'm ready," Karen announced brightly, then glanced at me. "Wait… how are we getting to your place in Brooklyn? Should we call a taxi or something?"
I resisted the urge to facepalm. "You're just now thinking about that? Not, say… while you were packing?"
Karen tilted her head, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't worry about it," I replied smoothly, walking over to the towering suitcases. "But we're gonna need to lose these two Great Danes."
"Wait, what? Why did I spend all that time packing if you're just gonna—"
Before she could finish, I grabbed the first suitcase, then the second, and pushed them both into the swirling blackness of my shadow dimension. They vanished without a trace, leaving Karen staring at me, her pretty face marred by a mix of concern and disbelief.
"Uh, Sarah," she began cautiously, "didn't you… uh… just toss a dead body in there earlier?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Relax. My shadow dimension isn't some one-size-fits-all dumping ground. Think of it like… a private storage unit, with different levels. Suitcases in one, bad guys in another."
Karen didn't look entirely convinced, but she sighed, muttering, "Sure. Why not?"
With that, we left her apartment and stepped into the cool night air. Karen glanced around expectantly, scanning for a car, her brow furrowing when none appeared.
"Okay, so… where's your ride?" she asked.
I grinned. "Behind you."
She turned, just in time to see a sleek, futuristic crimson-and-black Aprilia RSV4 Factory rise out of the shadows, its design so sharp it could've been pulled from a Stark Industries catalog. Karen blinked but didn't look nearly as surprised as I'd expected.
"Must be nice," she mused. "Never worrying about parking or your bike being stolen."
I smirked. "Perks of having shadows on speed dial."
Karen chuckled faintly as I pulled a spare helmet from my shadow pocket and handed it to her. "This knight in shining leather always comes prepared," I teased. "The other one's chained to the bike. Don't want it growing legs and wandering off."
Karen shook her head but smiled as she slid the helmet on. "Must be exhausting being you."
"Oh, you have no idea."
We both mounted the bike, and Karen's arms instinctively wrapped around my waist as I reached for the controls. "You might want to hold on tight," I warned, my voice dropping playfully. "This baby moves."
"God, yes," Karen breathed, her voice dripping with relief.
As I gripped the handlebars, Ava-pod, who had been keeping watch, descended from the sky and landed gracefully on the dashboard, her soft blue light blending with the bike's crimson glow. With a soft hum, Ava integrated herself into the controls, activating the cloaking system with a shimmer of black light that rippled over the bike like liquid shadow.
"Cloaking engaged," Ava confirmed in her smooth, serene tone.
Karen's grip tightened as the engine roared to life. I peeled out of the driveway, the bike gliding onto the street with the smooth precision of a predator. The cool air whipped past us, and for the first time in hours, Karen laughed—a soft, relieved sound that cut through the tension of the night.
...
The brownstone was quiet—almost too quiet. I stretched out on the floor, arms splayed behind my head, my fingers brushing against the plush carpet. Though my brownstone had rooms to spare, Karen didn't want to sleep alone. So here I was, lying on the floor in my own house.
Above me, the ceiling loomed like a judgmental void, silently mocking my life choices. "What have I gotten myself into?" I muttered under my breath, the words barely audible even to me.
All I wanted was to stay far, far away from this street hero or vigilante chaos. And yet, here I was—ankle-deep in something that screamed a bad idea with a capital B.
A soft rustle came from the bed above me. Karen. She was moving around, shifting the sheets, probably trying to get comfortable. Or maybe she was wrestling with her fears.
I closed my eyes for a moment, the memory of her face flickering behind my eyelids. "Is it my… previous life's infatuation with Karen?" I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Please tell me I didn't dive into this mess just because of some residual crush."
My grimace deepened. I knew I'd had a handful of infatuations before—probably your standard-issue teenage crushes—but they were all hazy now, like old VHS tapes left in the sun too long. The one thing I did remember? Fiction. Plots, characters, storylines—they were all clear as day.
I opened my eyes again, locking them on the ceiling. "It's strange, though... Why can't I remember anything real about that life? Could that have been my first life? Or maybe... there was something before that? Something I haven't reawakened yet?"
Then the blanket shifted again, but this time, it wasn't the usual restless move. It felt intentional like someone was crossing into my space. My heart jumped, beating harder.
"What the—"
Before I could say another word, Karen's lips were on mine, cutting me off, stealing the breath right from my lungs. The kiss was urgent, and hungry, like she was desperate for something she couldn't hold back. Her hands were shaking as they pressed against me, her body warm and solid, crushing me with the weight of it all. For a second, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, just lost in the rush of everything.
I froze, unsure what to do. The room felt like it was closing in on us, the moment hanging thick like a storm on the edge. My body was on fire, filled with confusion and want, and I could feel her hesitation, gentle touch, almost apologetic. She was scared, I could tell, but she couldn't stop.
Her lips moved against mine with a raw need that left me breathless, torn between the intensity of the kiss and the way my heart raced, unsure whether it was from wanting her or whatever this meant.
The dark swallowed us whole, leaving only the sound of our breaths and the thumping pulse in my chest. My mind was a mess, trying to make sense of it all. I wanted to protest, to ask her what she was doing. I knew she wasn't a lesbian. However, all I could do was feel her—her closeness, her need—and somehow, in that moment, I wanted the same.