"No... this isn't real..."
Harley was on the verge of breaking down.
He hadn't jumped in, hadn't saved her, hadn't felt sorry for her.
Even when she finally caught hold of the edge of the pool herself, struggled ashore, and looked at him, battered all over, he merely scoffed and turned away, leaving her with one casual, utterly cold remark: "Pretty lucky. You actually survived."
Harley had always told herself that leap was proof of her love with Puddin’, her brave plunge into love. Surely Puddin’ had been moved. Surely he remembered what she had given for him.
But now, she saw clearly that her reckless devotion had been nothing more than a trivial test in Joker's eyes. He had never cared whether she lived or died, never ached for her suffering.
Her sacrifice meant nothing to him.
At some point, tears had begun streaming down Harley's face...
Meanwhile, in Gotham, at a Safehouse in an old East End apartment building.
The Safehouse that Catwoman, Selina Kyle, had once considered more than spacious enough for herself was now crammed with people and equipment.
Dense tangles of wiring covered the patchy walls. Silver-gray data cables wound around the old radiator in the corner, and a dream manifestation device confiscated from Mad Hatter and modified occupied most of the small living room. Its metal casing gleamed coldly, while several high-definition monitors stood at staggered heights, flickering with cool-colored light.
Harley lay quietly on a makeshift medical bed in the center of the living room, her eyes closed in sleep. Yet her brows were tightly knitted, and undried tear tracks lingered at the corners of her eyes. Her usually vibrant face was filled with exhaustion and vulnerability.
Beside her, Pamela unconsciously clenched her fists, her eyes full of heartache. Selina leaned by the