Superman closed his eyes. Not in pain. In sadness .
Outside, the sun was rising over Metropolis. And somewhere up there, she knew, he was listening.
He didn't push her away. He didn't punch. He rose . Straight up, through the clouds, into the freezing stratosphere. Xenia clung tighter, laughing, gasping, the green fire in her veins starting to flicker. The air thinned. The cold bit through her stolen invincibility.
She squeezed a chunk of hull plating. It crumpled like wet paper.
For one perfect, terrible second, Xenia Onatopp looked at him—this alien boy scout with blood on his lip and tears freezing on his cheeks—and she believed him.
"I don't want your help, Superman. I want your attention ."
The news called her "The Emerald Ghost." Lex Luthor, watching from his tower, smiled. But Xenia wasn't working for anyone. Not anymore.
She wanted Superman to notice her. He found her on the LexCorp roof, sitting on the edge of a shattered water tower, filing her nails with a piece of rebar.
He pulled her from the dark. She woke in a white room. No windows. A bed that wasn't silk. Her wrists were bandaged. Her legs ached.
She folded the paper into a tiny green bird and set it on the windowsill.
She laughed. It was bright and sharp as a diamond saw.
And then—a hand. Warm. Unbreakable.
"Oh, darling," she whispered. "I could get used to this." Metropolis didn’t know what hit it.