(THE “S” STANDS FOR HOPE) CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE: TAMMI III

Superman was the first to break the silence, though he didn’t move any closer.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he said. “But you looked like you could use someone listening.”

Tammi let out a short, humorless huff. “You have a funny definition of ‘listening.’”

A corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Fair.”

She wiped at her face, irritation flaring anew at the reminder that he’d heard everything. “So what,” she said, her words coming out harsher than she intended, “this is the part where you tell me to turn myself in? Or give me a speech about making better choices?”

“No,” Superman said immediately.

That made her pause.

“I’m not here to arrest you,” he continued. “And I’m not here to lecture you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lowered himself until his boots touched the concrete, giving her the courtesy of being on the same level, though the space between them stayed the same.

“Because I heard someone who was hurting,” he said. “And ignoring that is wrong.”

Tammi swallowed. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he replied gently. “I know you weren’t crying because you lost a fight.”

She turned away, jaw tightening. “You heroes really can’t help yourselves, can you? Always thinking you know everything.”

“No,” he said. “We think we miss things too often.”

That shut her up.

For a moment, the only sound was the city far below them. She crossed her arms, defensive out of habit. “If you’re hoping I’ll spill my life story,” she said, “don’t hold your breath.”

“I’m not,” Superman replied. “But I am hoping you’ll hear me out.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “This should be good.”

“I know who you run with,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I know what they promise people like you: structure, a sense of belonging, and protection.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Careful.”

“I’m not judging you,” he said. “I’m saying I understand why it works.”

That… wasn’t what she’d expected.

“They don’t start out cruel,” he went on. “They start out convincing. That’s how they get you to stay.”

Tammi laughed softly, without humor. “You say that like it’s some kind of cautionary tale.”

“It is,” he said. “And it doesn’t end well.”

She stared at him, anger flaring hot, then fading just as quickly as it appeared. “You don’t get it,” she said. “You can’t. People don’t just… leave what they know. Not when it’s the only thing that ever made sense.”

Superman studied her for a moment longer than was comfortable. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“Did they make you feel like you mattered,” he asked, “or like you were useful?”

The question hit harder than she was prepared for.

Her fingers curled, nails biting into her palms. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it‘s important.”

She shook her head. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you deserve to ask it of yourself.”

She hated that he wasn’t pushing. Hated that he wasn’t threatening her, or condemning her, or trying to trap her into something she couldn’t refuse outright. It made him harder to dismiss.

“So what,” she muttered. “You want me to join the Wards? Is that what this is? A recruitment pitch?”

He smiled then, small and genuine. “I want you to know the option exists.”

She scoffed. “I’m not exactly their type.”

“Actually,” he said, “you are.”

That made her look up.

“They’re your age,” he continued, taking a small step closer. “They’ve made mistakes. Enough to understand what it’s like to feel boxed in by them.”

“They’d never trust me,” she said.

“Trust isn’t the starting point,” Superman replied. “It’s the goal.”

She looked back to look out over the city, throat tight. “And what,” she asked quietly, “they just become my new family?”

“They become people who don’t need you to be useful to keep you around.”

She sighed as his words only reinforced her earlier fears.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything tonight,” he added. “Or next week. Or even anytime soon. I’m just saying… you don’t have to keep choosing the same thing because it’s familiar.”

Silence stretched between them again.

Finally, she asked, “You really think someone like me fits in with the heroes?”

“I think,” Superman replied, “that someone like you deserves the chance to find out.”

She hesitated. She wasn’t ready to answer, but she didn’t want him to leave without hearing her response.

“I’m not promising anything,” she said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replied.

When he stepped back and finally took to the air again, she didn’t feel relieved.

She felt unsettled.

And long after he was gone, long after she watched him fly into the night, the idea he’d left behind refused to let go.