Who let the storm inside?

The shotgun blast rattled the walls, but the woman standing in the center of the bar didn’t even flinch.

Starlight barely had time to push back from the table before she was already moving, eyes flicking toward Cate as they both turned toward the sound.

Cate had already read the room—Starlight could see it in her face.

No panic. No fear. Just that same cold calculation Cate always had when she knew she was going to have to fix something.

When Starlight stepped into the main bar, she immediately took in the scene—the bouncer, moaning on the floor, clutching his shattered hand; the bartender, shotgun still smoking but hands shaking now; and the Supe standing in the middle of it all, expression unreadable.

No costume. No branding. Just sweatpants, a sports bra, and a whole lot of trouble.

Starlight came to a stop, shoulders squared. “Alright,” she said, voice steady. “You got my attention. Now tell me why I shouldn’t blast you through the wall.”

Cate, standing just behind her, exhaled sharply. “Well, that’s one approach.”

Starlight didn’t turn her head, but she could feel Cate’s presence—cool, measured, already working through a dozen different outcomes.

Cate let her gloved fingers flex at her sides before stepping forward, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut through the tension.

“Before you say something you can’t take back,” Cate said, tilting her head toward Gale, “maybe we start with a name?”

Her tone was pure control—not a demand, but something close. Starlight could feel the weight of Cate’s power sitting just beneath the surface. The kind of voice that made people want to answer even if they didn’t mean to.

Cate let the moment stretch before lifting a brow.

“Unless,” she added, “you’d prefer I dig around and find it myself.”