The rumble of the jet engines hummed softly beneath me, a near hypnotic thrum that worked its way through my bones, almost soothing—almost. If not for the murmured voices ahead, just discernible over the hum. Superman and Wonder Woman were in the cockpit, speaking in tones that they must have assumed were private.

  They probably thought they were being subtle, letting their conversation fall just beneath the whirring drone, but I heard them as clearly as if they were speaking directly beside me.

  Maybe they knew I’d hear. Maybe they just didn’t care.

  Their discussion, however, held little interest to me.

  The real intrigue y with the jet itself—the sleek, seamless interior, the way it had been invisible until, quite suddenly, it hadn’t. It was unlike anything I’d encountered. The craft had seemed to defy detection, slipping past all the senses, even my own—senses that were sharper than most, encompassing spectrums that few others could see or hear. Yet, it had somehow managed to remain undetectable.

  I shifted slightly in my seat, strapped in, the tightness around my shoulders and chest grounding me in the present as my eyes roamed through the jet’s interior.

  I focused, squinting slightly, my senses sharpening and looking through dark streamlined panels that curved seamlessly around me, down to the intricate wiring underneath and-

  How had I missed that

  Carved faintly into the metal fusege, nearly invisible against the deep metallic sheen, were symbols—archaic, intricate, winding their way across every surface.

  From floor to ceiling, these symbols yered the jet like an endless web, ancient patterns woven across every panel, every rivet. Not merely markings or ornamentation, but something more. Not words, more like—

  “Runes.”

  A voice cut through my concentration, warm and amused. It had my attention snapping to the side, startled. Looking to the woman stood in front of me or rather…through the woman. My vision peeled through yers of armor and fabric to see—

  “I’ve been around Crk long enough to know,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “that super intense stare you’ve got right now means you’re using that X-Ray vision of yours.”

  I blinked, abruptly cutting my sight back to the here and now, but the image of what I saw lingered, as if etched into my memory. My mouth went dry, as something unfamiliar—no, all too familiar—began stirring in me. Puberty had done its work in my first life, but in this new body, her presence reared its head like a half-forgotten memory, a whisper of heat that soaked my loins.

  She tilted her head, thick bck hair cascading over her shoulder in elegant waves, and her lips curved into a slight, knowing smile, as though she knew precisely what I'd seen.

  "Runes?” I asked, forcing the word out through a throat that suddenly felt too tight.

  "Carved by Hecate herself," Her voice was beautiful, angelic with a kind of femininity that was alluring. "They are gifts. Magic that hides me from unwanted gaze, that keeps this pne invisible to prying eyes, from detection of any kind."

  She stepped closer, bringing with her the faintest hint of something floral, something wild that lingered around her. It was subtle, like crushed petals and fresh earth.

  She didn’t wait for me to speak. Instead, she just held out her hand.

  “Diana. Of Themyscira.” Her grip was strong, unflinching, like the handshake was a test I hadn’t known I was taking. No warmth, no distance—just her looking at me, gauging something I hadn’t even thought to measure in myself.

  “Match,” I replied, nodding. “But you already knew that.”

  She looked at me, studying me for half a second, the way you’d size up someone across a battlefield, deciding if they were worth the trouble.

  “You look just like him,” she said. “Sound even more so that it’s uncanny.”

  I shrugged. “I’m his clone. It is given.”

  “It’s more than that,” she said, as if my answer barely scratched the surface. “I mean in here.” She tapped her chest. “The same strength I sense in him… it’s in you too. Strength of will.”

  A beat passed where I tried to decipher what the hell she even meant by that. Then, “He tells me you have agreed to sign the Accords.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Why?” Her gaze didn’t waver. “See, I know why Crk signed. For all his strength, he just wants a normal life. Give him a girl and a farm, and he’s good. Simple things for someone who could split pnets. A simple man you could say.”

  From the cockpit, Crk shouted back, “I heard that.”

  She ignored him, focused on me. “But you… you’ve got no obligations here. Nothing holding you to this agreement. Hell, you going against it would make more sense.”

  “You are not in support of the accords.”

  She scoffed. “Of course not. It’s control masquerading as agreement. Maniputive, overreaching. It’s one thing for Crk to put himself under that, but you—dragging you into it, it’s… barbaric.”

  “Diana.” Superman’s voice came out sharp from the cockpit, warningly.

  Once again, she ignored him. “I just want to be sure that this was your decision, Match and not something you were forced into.”

  Her eyes remained locked on mine, waiting on my answer.

  The silence between us stretched, broken only by the steady hum of the jet, a sound that seemed to sharpen the tension rather than dull it. Her eyes stayed piercing into mine.

  Behind her, Crk's head shifted almost imperceptibly, his ears finely tuned to our exchange. Though he faced the front, the tilt of his head betrayed his interest in my response, an ear turned back to catch every word.

  After a beat, I nodded, my voice composed. “Thank you for your concern, Diana, but this decision is my own.”

  She held my gaze a moment longer, searching, and then finally exhaled, her posture softening in cautious acceptance. “Very well,” she replied quietly, though her eyes held a trace of lingering doubt.

  Just then, Crk turned a fraction further, his gnce flicking toward us from the cockpit. “Diana, I think we’re getting close,” he called, a polite nudge to shift the focus back to the flight at hand.

  Diana let the moment settle, then gave a single, sharp nod, and without another word, turned back towards the cockpit.

  I found myself still processing this interaction, caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief. She didn’t mince words—that much was clear. Her bluntness was….refreshing. Her stance on the Accords alone meant that I had found an ally in her.

  The jet began its descent, and I felt a subtle shift as the craft slowed, almost hovering. I gnced out of the window, focusing through the slight tint of the gss.

  There it was, unmistakable even from this height: the White House.

  Its pale, neocssical facade stood stark against the deepening evening, surrounded by manicured wns and guarded with the quiet vigince one would expect of such a pce. And, in the center of it all, directly beneath us, a solitary helipad stood awaiting our arrival—a neatly painted “H” marking its center like the careful stroke of a painter’s brush, the edge lined with modestly blinking lights.

  With a soft jolt, the jet touched down, its nding smoother than any I’d ever experienced in an aircraft. The engines wound down to a gentle hum before going silent, leaving only the subtle ticking of cooling metal.

  I unstrapped my harness. Just as Superman emerged from the cockpit.

  “Welcome back to D.C.,” he said, a slight smile on his face, though his expression was tinged with something more serious.

  Outside, I could see a small group of officials in suits gathering near the nding pad. Military officers stood at a short distance, standing at attention, their gazes fixed forward. They looked like they were prepared to greet us.

  Crk and Diana exchanged a brief look, something unspoken but clearly understood. Then Crk gestured toward the hatch, which hissed open, letting a brisk breeze sweep inside.

  I took a moment to settle my expression, keeping the curiosity in my eyes but masking everything else. This was, after all, a performance as much as an arrival.

  Superman and Diana moved ahead, leading us down the lowered ramp.

  I followed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on my shoulders like an extra yer of armor.

  The White House y ahead, its stark, white facade stark against the encroaching evening sky. Guards and suited officials gathered in a loose, prepared line, their eyes sharp with calcuted appraisal. Each of them gave the impression of professionalism while betraying a wariness that hadn’t been as visible from the air.

  At the base of the ramp, a delegation of men in dark suits and women in sharply tailored bzers awaited us, standing at attention.

  Diana stepped forward, every bit the diplomat, a slight incline of her head indicating her status and regality as a daughter of Themyscira.

  I knew enough to let her lead the first interactions. After all, diplomacy wasn’t my specialty—and in their eyes, I wasn’t here by choice, even if I’d signed. I was a presence to be managed, a potential liability to control.

  “Ambassador Diana of Themyscira, League personnel on foreign affairs,” she introduced herself smoothly, her voice cutting through the quiet tension. Her tone carried a weight that somehow softened the steely professionalism around us, like the scent of wildflowers pushing through concrete. She gestured to Superman. “You all know Superman of Krypton, protector of Metropolis. Of Earth.” She said letting her eyes, meet their eyes, one by one.

  “And Match. A newly discovered Clone of Superman. Here to acknowledge his agreement with the Accords.”

  The officials exchanged looks, and a man stepped forward, his handshake quick and efficient as he greeted each of us. When he turned to me, though, his smile barely reached his eyes.

  “Welcome,” he said, as if the word was more ceremonial than genuine.

  “Thank you,” I replied, careful to keep my expression neutral, my tone just polite enough.

  The man gave a shallow nod and gestured toward the grand entryway behind him. “The President is ready to meet with you, if you’ll all follow me.”

  The walk through the building felt both surreal and stifling. The ornate hallways were lined with portraits and gleaming floors, but everything about it—the marble, the chandeliers, the muted murmurs of staff moving past—had an air of careful containment.

  Security hovered discreetly at every turn, their eyes trailing after us, and while Diana and Superman walked with calm, easily practiced ease, I felt every gaze nding on me, measuring, calcuting.

  Finally, we reached a set of heavy doors. They swung open to reveal the Oval Office, its iconic yout somehow smaller in person but no less intimidating.

  The President stood by her desk, fnked by more officials, her expression formal but guarded.

  Her eyes first settled on Superman, then Diana, and then, after a noticeable pause, on me. In that pause, I sensed the careful consideration behind her gaze, the way she was already attempting to parse what sort of “asset” they’d signed on.

  She offered her hand, and I accepted it, feeling the firm grip of a woman who likely knew how to py this particur power game better than anyone else in the room.

  “Match,” She said, voice steady “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. The Accords are a significant step forward, and your presence today is a testament to that progress.”

  Familiar. Her carefully chosen words, crafted for diplomacy and softened with just enough sincerity to feel rehearsed yet genuine.

  I nodded in response, offering a tight smile, aware of Diana and Superman standing on either side of me, silent witnesses to the moment.

  “Of course,” I replied, keeping my tone steady. “I appreciate the opportunity.”

  Superman received a nod of the head and a handshake.

  Her eyes had settled on Diana, lingering just a bit longer than necessary, the polished facade of a world leader faltering for a fraction of a second. Revealing a glint of something far more revealing than diplomacy or duty. Admiration. Awe. The kind of awe that only a fan might carry, the kind that shone just beneath the surface, held back with a quiet, restrained excitement.

  A fangirl. The President of the United States was a Wonder Woman fangirl.

  There was a moment, almost imperceptible, where Diana’s lips tilted up—a flicker of amusement that vanished as quickly as it came.

  “Ambassador Diana,” The President said, her tone just a touch warmer than it had been with me or Superman. “It’s an honor to have you here. You’ve long been a figure of inspiration for many of us, myself included.”

  Diana accepted the President’s hand, her grip firm but gentle, acknowledging the President with the measured grace of royalty accustomed to reverence. She inclined her head just slightly, her smile serene and gracious. “The honor is mine, Madam President. I’m grateful to be here representing Themyscira and the League. To ensure a successful agreement on favorable grounds.”

  The President’s face softened, the words reaching her on a level beyond mere diplomacy. I could see it in her eyes—the way they almost shimmered, her expression caught between the composed leader and the person underneath, the one who had perhaps looked up to Diana long before this moment, before the responsibilities, before the power.

  “Yes,” the President replied, her voice nearly a whisper. She seemed to catch herself, pulling back just enough to regain her composure. “Yes, of course.” Her gaze flickered briefly to me and Superman before returning to Diana, as if she didn’t quite want to let go of the moment.

  “The Accords represent a vision,” the President continued, bit more firmly, almost as if she’d been called to attention. “We’re fully committed to ensuring that Peace remains a colborative effort, one built on understanding.”

  Then the President gestured toward a table where a series of documents y, waiting. “The Accords are ready for final review and signatures. I assume you’ve had ample opportunity to review the terms?”

  I gnced at the stack of papers, feeling their significance like a pulse beneath my fingertips even before I’d touched them. Superman had expined in his attempt to help me navigate the legal maze of cuses, but now, standing here, it felt heavier than any contract I’d ever signed. This wasn’t just a piece of paper; it was a tether, an agreement that would bind me, define my presence in their world, and dictate what I could and couldn’t do.

  Still, I nodded, stepping forward, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on me.

  Just as I put the pen to the page to sign, a knock sounded on the door. The door opened and a bald headed man stepped in cd in a sharp bck suit.

  “Sorry for the dey, traffic was a bit much. I see you have started already.”

  “Everyone, this is UN Secretary General Lex-“ the president introduced.

  “-Luthor” Superman spat.

  ________________________________________

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