Natasha stepped out of the interrogation room, took a cup of coffee from a colleague, leaned against the wall, and took a sip. She let out a soft sigh, then turned to look through the observation window in the interrogation room door.
Another agent had taken over her work, but Wonder Woman simply sat there in a daze without saying a word. Ordinary people could not outlast a demigod even on rotating shifts, and Natasha could hear the low complaints coming from the nearby offices.
Three days had passed since she had been parachuted into the position of special task force leader. As the head of the first CIA agent unit in history to possess law-enforcement authority within the federal government, Natasha had taken only three days to prove to Arkham Batman that he had made the right choice.
But it had not been easy. Natasha sighed again. She had been exhausted these past few days as well. Open attacks and hidden schemes, treacherous currents and shifting winds—she had begun seriously considering whether she really needed to stab every man she slept with.
Taking small sips of her coffee, Natasha recalled the day Arkham Batman had come to find her.
Natasha had never felt guilty over a little bedroom amusement. The main reason was that the people she stabbed usually did not live long enough to come looking for payback. Bucky Barnes was an exception, and Clint Barton was another. As for Arkham Batman, he was the exception among exceptions—because he was the only man who had taken a stab and still gone through the entire process.
When he had finished that cigarette with his heart exposed, Natasha had known this day would come. But when she saw that powerful figure outside her apartment window, she still could not help