After the authorities had finished their initial processing of Dr. Sivana and his collection of expensive broken equipment, the newly minted Shazam Family found themselves standing in the relative quiet of the park's edge, still processing what had just happened to them.
The emergency vehicles were beginning to disperse, their flashing lights creating an almost festive atmosphere that seemed entirely inappropriate for what had been a life-or-death situation approximately thirty minutes earlier. News crews were setting up perimeters, because apparently "teenagers gain cosmic-level magical abilities while defeating megalomaniacal scientist" was exactly the kind of story that made local news directors weep with joy and probably demand overtime authorization for their entire staff.
"So," Mary said, having transformed back to her civilian identity but still carrying herself with the kind of newfound confidence that came from discovering she could channel divine wisdom and strategic brilliance when properly motivated, "that happened."
She was standing perhaps slightly closer to Harry than was strictly necessary for normal conversation, and Billy's enhanced hearing picked up the subtle changes in her heartbeat that suggested her earlier infatuation had not been diminished by learning about his complicated romantic situation. If anything, she seemed more intrigued than discouraged, which was either admirably mature or slightly concerning depending on your perspective on teenage crush dynamics.
"That happened," Billy agreed, flexing his fingers and marveling at the fact that he could still feel the magical connection to his family humming beneath his consciousness like a warm current of shared power and mutual protection. "We're all superheroes now. That's... that's actually kind of amazing."
Eugene was examining his hands with the fascinated attention of someone who'd just discovered they contained equipment that violated several laws of physics, while Darla was bouncing on her feet with barely contained excitement that suggested she was going to need several hours of intensive physical activity before she'd be able to sleep.
Freddy was still grinning like someone had just told him he'd won the cosmic lottery, which, Billy supposed, was essentially what had happened.
Pedro, characteristically, was taking the whole transformation in stride, though Billy could see the quiet satisfaction in his expression—the look of someone who'd always been the steady foundation for everyone else and was now equipped with supernatural abilities to match his natural protective instincts.
Harry—currently in his civilian form, immaculately dressed despite having recently engaged in magical combat with mechanical serpents and dimensional instability—was watching the family dynamics with obvious affection and what appeared to be genuine pride in their performance.
"You all handled that remarkably well," Harry said, his voice carrying that warm British accent that somehow made everything sound both more sophisticated and more reassuring. "First time wielding cosmic-level magical abilities, facing professional supervillains, coordinating as a team under combat conditions—most people would have required significantly more adjustment time."
Mary stepped slightly closer, her analytical mind clearly working through something important that she was trying to find the right words to express.
"Harry," she said, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd been thinking carefully about a complex subject and had reached some interesting conclusions, "earlier, when you mentioned your... relationship situation... with multiple partners who are all amazing, accomplished women with demanding careers..."
Billy recognized the tone and immediately began calculating escape routes, because Mary in full analytical mode was both impressive and potentially embarrassing for everyone within a several-block radius.
"Yes?" Harry replied, his expression shifting to that careful attentiveness that suggested he'd recognized the direction of the conversation and was prepared to handle it with diplomatic skill.
"I was wondering," Mary continued, her cheeks flushing slightly but her voice steady with the kind of determination that had made her an excellent tactical coordinator, "whether that situation might have room for someone who's just discovered she has cosmic-level strategic planning abilities and a newfound appreciation for interdimensional magical warfare as a collaborative activity."
Eugene made a soft choking sound that might have been laughter or horror, while Darla's eyes widened with the kind of fascinated attention that suggested she was taking mental notes for future reference when she was old enough to understand romantic negotiations.
Freddy, still floating about six inches off the ground because he apparently couldn't stop himself, grinned like someone watching the most entertaining show on television.
"Mary..." Billy began, his voice carrying that particular note of someone trying to prevent his foster sister from making what might be a spectacularly awkward social error.
"It's a reasonable question," Mary interrupted, her analytical mind clearly running calculations about probability, compatibility, and strategic advantages of various romantic arrangements. "I mean, polyamorous relationships require excellent communication skills, emotional maturity, and the ability to coordinate complex logistics while maintaining multiple meaningful connections. Those are all skills I demonstrably possess. Plus, I now have magical abilities and experience in crisis management."
Harry's expression grew genuinely amused, the kind of look that suggested he was both impressed by her directness and charmed by her analytical approach to what most people would consider a purely emotional decision.
"Mary," Harry said gently, his voice carrying that particular tone of someone who was about to deliver both compliment and gentle redirection, "you are remarkable. Intelligent, brave, strategically brilliant, and possessed of exactly the kind of character that makes someone worthy of magical power. Any man would be extraordinarily fortunate to earn your affection."
Mary's expression brightened with hope and what appeared to be vindication of her strategic analysis, while Billy prepared himself for whatever came next.
"However," Harry continued, his voice carrying that diplomatic skill that came from years of navigating complex interpersonal situations, "you're eighteen years old, you've just gained cosmic-level magical abilities, and you're about to begin what I suspect will be an extraordinary life filled with opportunities and experiences that will shape you in ways you can't yet imagine. The last thing you need is the added complexity of a romantic relationship with someone whose life involves interdimensional travel, regular combat situations, and the kind of professional obligations that make normal relationship maintenance challenging even for adults with decades of experience."
Mary's face fell slightly, though her analytical mind was clearly processing the logic of his argument and probably running probability calculations about the practical challenges he was describing.
"Besides," Harry added, his smile warm and genuinely affectionate, "I'm considerably older than I appear, I have professional obligations that regularly put me in danger, and my existing relationships require the kind of time and emotional investment that wouldn't be fair to anyone new, regardless of how remarkable they might be."
"How much older?" Mary asked, because apparently her curiosity was stronger than her disappointment.
"Let's just say that when I was your age, the world was a very different place," Harry replied diplomatically. "The kind of age difference that makes romantic relationships inappropriate regardless of mutual respect and admiration."
Pedro, who had been listening to this exchange with his characteristic quiet attention, spoke up for the first time since transforming back to his civilian identity.
"Mary," he said simply, "you just became a superhero. Maybe focus on that for a while before adding relationship complications."
"Pedro's right," Billy said, grateful for his foster brother's steady common sense. "We've all got a lot to figure out about having magical powers and being a superhero family. Romance can wait until we've figured out the basics, like how to transform without accidentally breaking things or whether we need to worry about secret identity maintenance."
Darla bounced on her feet with obvious excitement. "Can we get matching uniforms? I think we should get matching uniforms. With a team logo. And maybe a theme song."
"Let's start with not accidentally destroying the house next time we transform," Freddy suggested, still floating with obvious delight. "Then we can work on the merchandising."
Harry checked what appeared to be a watch that probably cost more than most people's cars and possibly had features that weren't available through normal commercial suppliers.
"Speaking of obligations," he said, his expression growing more serious, "I should head to the Watchtower. Tonight's events are going to require some... explanation... to the Justice League, and I suspect there's going to be a rather significant discussion about Batman's contingency protocols and how they were compromised."
His voice carried that particular British understatement that suggested the upcoming conversation would be considerably more intense than his phrasing implied.
"Is Bruce going to be in trouble?" Billy asked, concerned about his mentor and friend despite the fact that Batman's paranoid planning had nearly gotten him killed.
"Bruce is going to have to answer some very pointed questions about operational security, information management, and the wisdom of creating detailed assassination protocols for his teammates," Harry replied carefully. "The kind of questions that will probably require several hours of discussion and possibly some very creative diplomatic solutions."
Mary straightened, her strategic mind clearly engaging with this new problem. "Do you want us to provide testimony about what happened here? Tactical analysis of Sivana's methods? Documentation of how the stolen protocols were modified for lethal application?"
"That's very thoughtful of you," Harry said, his voice carrying genuine appreciation for her offer of support, "but this particular conversation needs to happen between League members first. We need to address the trust issues and security concerns before involving outside testimony, even from people as capable as yourselves."
He moved toward the edge of the park with that fluid grace that suggested he was preparing to leave, then paused to look back at the six teenagers who'd just become one of the most powerful supernatural families on Earth.
"Take care of each other," Harry said, his voice carrying that particular warmth that meant the advice was both professional and personal. "Being a superhero family is remarkable, but it's also complicated. You'll need to learn how to balance your new abilities with your existing relationships, your heroic responsibilities with your ordinary lives."
"Will we see you again?" Darla asked, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just met someone remarkable and didn't want them to disappear immediately.
Harry's smile was warm and genuine. "Oh, I suspect our paths will cross again quite soon. Superhero families tend to attract interesting complications, and I have a tendency to show up wherever interesting complications need to be resolved through the creative application of interdimensional magical violence."
"That sounds ominous," Eugene observed.
"It sounds awesome," Freddy corrected, still floating with obvious joy.
"It sounds like Tuesday," Billy said, grinning despite everything.
Harry's laugh carried across the park as he began to shimmer with that distinctive magical energy that meant he was about to teleport across several time zones in the space between heartbeats.
"Do try not to save the world again before Thursday," he called out, his voice already growing distant as reality folded around him. "I'll need at least that long to explain tonight's events to people who think contingency planning should involve reasonable safety protocols."
And then he was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and expensive cologne, and six teenagers standing in a park where they'd just gained cosmic-level magical abilities and probably saved their city from dimensional collapse caused by a megalomaniacal scientist with questionable research methodologies.
"So," Mary said, her voice carrying that practical tone that suggested someone was about to organize the situation into manageable components, "I guess we should probably head home. Rosa's going to want a full debriefing, and we should probably figure out some kind of cover story for why we were all gone at the same time during a major supernatural emergency."
"We were coordinating civilian evacuation," Billy suggested. "Which is technically true."
"From multiple locations," Pedro added. "Also technically true."
"While providing communications support," Eugene continued. "Again, technically accurate."
"I love it when the truth is technically correct," Darla said cheerfully. "It makes everything so much simpler."
As the Shazam Family headed home through the streets of Fawcett City—six teenagers who'd just become something unprecedented in the superhero community—Billy felt that familiar warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with magical powers and everything to do with the realization that having cosmic abilities was considerably less important than having people who cared enough about you to risk everything when it mattered.
They had powers now, responsibilities, probably a future filled with increasingly complicated adventures and supernatural emergencies that would require creative solutions and probably excellent insurance coverage.
But they also had each other.
And in Billy's experience, that was the most powerful magic of all.
---
## Meanwhile, High Above the Earth...
The Watchtower hung in geosynchronous orbit like a monument to humanity's refusal to accept reasonable limitations on their ambitions or their real estate preferences. It gleamed against the star-field with the kind of sterile perfection that suggested it had been designed by people who believed that saving the world required excellent interior decorating and probably very expensive furniture.
The main conference room was exactly the kind of space you'd expect for meetings between people capable of punching through mountains and moving faster than light—large enough to accommodate Superman's cape, Wonder Woman's sword, and Batman's ego, with a conference table that looked like it could survive direct hits from cosmic-level magical abilities and probably had.
Currently, that table was surrounded by some of the most powerful beings on Earth, all of whom looked like they were having the kind of day that would require extensive documentation and possibly therapy.
Superman sat at the head of the table, his cape draped perfectly despite the fact that he'd recently been shot with a kryptonite bullet by someone pretending to be a suicidal civilian. His expression was the careful mask of someone trying to maintain professional composure while processing the fact that his own teammate's contingency plans had nearly gotten him killed.
Wonder Woman sat to his right, her armor gleaming and her posture regal despite the nanomachine attack that had nearly forced her to massacre innocent civilians. Her expression was the kind of controlled fury that suggested someone was about to receive a very educational lecture about the appropriate applications of psychological warfare against people with divine heritage and anger management issues.
The Flash occupied the seat next to her, though "occupied" was a generous term since he was vibrating slightly with the kind of nervous energy that came from being forced to run for hours with a bomb attached to his wrist. His uniform looked like it had been through a blender operated by someone with serious anger management issues, and his expression suggested he was still processing the fact that Mirror Master had turned him into a very fast, very dangerous game of "the floor is lava."
Green Lantern sat across from him, his ring glowing faintly with residual energy from his encounter with Sinestro and concentrated fear toxins. His expression was the look of someone who'd recently been forced to confront their deepest psychological vulnerabilities while buried alive in a mine shaft by someone with theatrical tendencies and probably expensive taste in burial locations.
Martian Manhunter had claimed the seat at the far end of the table, his green skin still showing faint marks from the magnesium fires that had nearly killed him in ways that most people wouldn't want to think about too carefully. His expression was the careful composure of someone who'd recently learned what it felt like to burn from the inside out while his teammates were too far away to help.
Cyborg was present via holographic projection, his image flickering slightly with interference patterns that suggested his systems were still recovering from electromagnetic warfare and probably several very expensive repairs. Beta-9's golden form materialized beside him, her presence radiating the kind of protective fury that made the air itself seem to crackle with barely contained violence.
And at the center of it all sat Batman, his cowl casting shadows that seemed deeper than usual, his expression unreadable behind the mask that had become his face. His cape was perfectly arranged despite the fact that he'd recently clawed his way out of his own grave, and his posture was the controlled stillness of someone who knew he was about to face questions he didn't want to answer about decisions he couldn't fully justify.
The silence stretched between them like a live wire, the kind of quiet that preceded either reasoned discussion or the sort of argument that would require structural repairs to the space station.
"So," Superman said finally, his voice carrying that particular tone of forced calm that usually preceded conversations about things nobody wanted to discuss, "let's start with the obvious question. How did someone get access to classified Justice League intelligence detailed enough to create targeted assassination protocols for each of us individually?"
His eyes moved around the table, taking in each of his teammates, before settling on Batman with the kind of focused attention that made most people reconsider their life choices.
"Bruce," Superman continued, his voice still controlled but carrying an edge that suggested his famous patience was approaching its reasonable limits, "would you like to explain why someone was able to use what appeared to be modified versions of your contingency plans to systematically attack five members of this team?"
Batman's expression didn't change, because Batman's expressions never changed when he was about to deliver information that would make everyone else angry, concerned, and probably question his judgment regarding reasonable approaches to team security.
"The Tower of Babel protocols were compromised," Batman said simply, his electronically modulated voice carrying that particular gravelly tone that made statements sound like pronouncements from the universe itself. "Someone with significant resources and advanced technical capabilities gained access to classified files that contained detailed tactical assessments of each team member's abilities, weaknesses, and psychological profiles."
The temperature in the conference room seemed to drop several degrees as everyone processed this information and its implications.
"Tower of Babel?" Wonder Woman asked, her voice carrying that particular note of divine authority that suggested someone was about to receive a very thorough explanation or experience the consequences of failing to provide one. "That's the name you gave to your plans for neutralizing us?"
"Contingency protocols," Batman corrected, though his tone suggested he knew the distinction wasn't going to improve anyone's mood about the situation. "Theoretical scenarios for temporarily incapacitating team members who might be compromised by mind control, alien influence, or psychological manipulation that could turn them into threats to civilian populations."
"Theoretical scenarios," The Flash repeated, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just learned something deeply unpleasant about a friend they'd trusted. "For incapacitating us. Your teammates. The people you work with every day to save the world."
His voice was getting faster, matching his accelerated metabolism and probably his rising anger. "Bruce, you planned ways to take us down. All of us. You studied our weaknesses, analyzed our psychology, figured out exactly how to hurt us in the most effective ways possible. And you gave it a name like it was some kind of military operation."
Batman's jaw tightened slightly, the only visible sign that the conversation was affecting him beyond professional annoyance at having his methods questioned.
"Yes," he said simply, because Batman had never seen the point in diplomatic evasion when direct honesty would accomplish the same goal with fewer words. "Because any of you could become a threat to innocent people if your abilities were compromised or your judgment was altered by external forces. Superman under red kryptonite influence. Diana affected by rage-inducing magic. Barry possessed by entities that could use his speed for destruction. J'onn mind-controlled by psychic parasites. Hal influenced by fear entities or ring malfunctions."
He looked around the table, his white lenses reflecting light in ways that made it impossible to read his expression but somehow conveyed absolute certainty about his reasoning.
"I created protocols to stop you if you ever became threats to the people we're supposed to protect," Batman continued, his voice carrying that particular tone of someone who'd thought through all the arguments and reached conclusions he was prepared to defend regardless of their popularity. "Because that's my job. Because someone has to be prepared for worst-case scenarios. Because I've seen what happens when powerful beings go wrong and nobody has a plan to stop them."
Martian Manhunter leaned forward, his red eyes glowing with the kind of intensity that suggested he was reading more than just the surface thoughts of everyone present.
"Bruce," J'onn said, his voice carrying that particular telepathic resonance that made words feel like they were coming from inside your own head, "I can sense your certainty, your conviction that these protocols were necessary. But I can also sense something else. Guilt. Fear. Not fear of us, but fear of what you've created."
His expression grew more focused, like someone examining a particularly complex puzzle that had personal implications.
"You didn't just create plans to stop us," J'onn continued, his voice growing more certain. "You created detailed psychological profiles, tactical assessments, and strategic analyses that could be used for purposes far beyond temporary incapacitation. You built weapons, Bruce. Weapons designed to exploit our most fundamental vulnerabilities."
Superman's expression grew colder, the kind of controlled anger that made tectonic plates reconsider their structural integrity.
"And someone stole those weapons," Superman said, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just realized the full scope of a betrayal. "Someone got access to your files and turned your contingency plans into assassination attempts. J'onn nearly died burning from the inside out. Diana almost massacred innocent civilians. Barry ran for hours with a bomb that could have killed millions. Hal was psychologically tortured into removing his ring. I was shot point-blank with kryptonite by someone pretending to need help."
His voice was rising, the careful control beginning to crack. "We trusted you, Bruce. We trusted you with our lives, our secrets, our vulnerabilities. And you used that trust to create detailed plans for destroying us."
Wonder Woman's hand moved to the hilt of her sword, not as a threat but as a gesture of barely controlled fury that made everyone at the table acutely aware that they were in the presence of someone whose anger could reshape landscapes.
"In my culture," Diana said, her voice carrying the kind of divine authority that had once commanded armies and probably caused geological events, "what you have done would be considered the gravest form of betrayal. You accepted our friendship, our trust, our fellowship in battle, and you used that intimacy to study our weaknesses like an enemy preparing for war."
Her eyes blazed with something that might have been literal fire, or might have been metaphorical fire that was hot enough to cause physical effects.
"On Themyscira," Diana continued, "such betrayal would result in exile at minimum, and quite possibly creative applications of divine justice that would serve as educational examples for anyone else who might consider similar breaches of honor."
Green Lantern's ring flared with emerald light, responding to emotions that were approaching the kind of intensity that could power small cities or level large buildings depending on their application.
"You know what the really messed up part is?" Hal said, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just realized something terrible about a situation that was already pretty terrible. "Your plans worked. Every single one of them. Sivana used your research to create a weapon that completely neutralized Shazam's abilities. If Billy hadn't had backup from his family, if that Wizard hadn't intervened, your contingency plan would have gotten a fourteen-year-old kid killed."
His ring pulsed brighter, casting green light that made everyone look slightly nauseous.
"A kid, Bruce," Hal continued, his voice getting louder. "Your paranoid planning almost got a child murdered by a megalomaniac with a PhD and anger management issues. How do you justify that? How do you sleep at night knowing that your contingency plans can be turned into weapons against the people you claim to protect?"
Cyborg's holographic projection flickered with interference that suggested his emotional state was affecting his technical systems in ways that probably violated several laws of physics.
"I was nearly killed by an electromagnetic weapon specifically calibrated to my cybernetic frequencies," Victor said, his voice distorted by electronic static and barely controlled fury. "Someone used your research to create a device that would have fried every circuit in my body while leaving me conscious long enough to experience dying slowly from technological failure. That's not a contingency plan, Bruce. That's torture porn written by someone with access to my medical files."
Beta-9's holographic form blazed with golden light that made everyone's eyes water and possibly their souls question their life choices.
"And they tried to hurt my man," she said, her voice carrying all the power and fury that had made her creator a legend, enhanced by artificial intelligence and probably several forms of digital enhancement that weren't available through normal commercial software packages. "They built a weapon specifically designed to cause him maximum pain while killing him slowly. That's not tactical planning, that's sadism with a PhD and government funding."
The Flash was vibrating more rapidly now, his form blurring at the edges as his emotional state affected his connection to the Speed Force.
"You want to know what's really bothering me?" Barry said, his voice coming out slightly distorted by his accelerated speech patterns. "It's not just that you created plans to stop us. I get that. Paranoia is your thing, and maybe there are scenarios where that kind of planning is necessary."
He leaned forward, his expression serious in a way that made everyone remember that Barry Allen wasn't just the fastest man alive, but also a forensic scientist with extensive experience analyzing crime scenes and understanding criminal psychology.
"What bothers me is that you never told us," Barry continued, his voice getting faster as his emotions accelerated along with his metabolism. "You never said 'hey guys, I'm creating detailed analyses of how to neutralize you in case you go rogue, would you like input on the accuracy of my threat assessments?' You just... studied us. Like specimens. Like enemies you were preparing to fight."
Superman stood up from the table, his cape settling around him with the kind of dramatic precision that suggested he was preparing to make a point that would require his full authority.
"Bruce," Superman said, his voice carrying that particular tone of disappointed authority that made everyone in the room feel like they'd just been called to the principal's office, except the principal could benchpress mountains and had heat vision. "I need you to understand something very clearly. What you did wasn't tactical planning. It wasn't reasonable preparation for unlikely scenarios. It was a massive violation of trust, a betrayal of everything we're supposed to represent as a team, and it nearly got people killed."
His eyes began to glow faintly with heat vision that was probably more about emotional intensity than actual intent to cause property damage, but still made everyone acutely aware that they were in the presence of someone whose anger could cause geological events.
"You took our friendship, our partnership, our willingness to trust you with our lives and our secrets, and you turned it into intelligence gathering for weapons development," Superman continued, his voice rising with the kind of controlled fury that made the space station's structural supports emit soft creaking sounds. "You studied Diana's psychological triggers so you could exploit them. You analyzed Barry's connection to the Speed Force so you could sever it. You catalogued J'onn's physiological vulnerabilities so you could torture him with them."
Superman's fists clenched, and several of the conference room's electronic systems made soft whimpering sounds that suggested they were not equipped to handle the electromagnetic fields generated by a really angry Kryptonian.
"And when someone stole your research and used it to systematically attack us, when your contingency plans were turned into assassination attempts that nearly killed five people, your response is to explain why you thought it was necessary rather than acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, creating detailed murder manuals for your teammates was not your best strategic decision."
The silence that followed was the kind of quiet that preceded either profound realizations or spectacular disasters, and nobody at the table was entirely sure which direction they were heading.
That was when reality tore open with a sound like expensive fabric being destroyed by someone with unlimited resources and questionable taste in dramatic entrances, and Eidolon stepped through the portal into the conference room like he owned several dimensions and had strong opinions about how this particular conversation was being conducted.
His black dragonhide armor pulsed with crimson energy, his cloak billowed dramatically despite the complete absence of atmospheric conditions that would justify such behavior, and his presence immediately made everyone aware that they were no longer just having a team meeting about trust issues and security protocols—they were having that conversation in the presence of someone whose job description included creative applications of interdimensional justice and probably very expensive property damage when properly motivated.
"Well," Eidolon said, his electronically modulated voice carrying that distinctive British accent that somehow made even dire observations sound like polite dinner conversation, "this is certainly a cozy little gathering. Nothing quite like a family meeting about betrayal, paranoia, and the practical applications of superior tactical planning to really bring people together."
He moved to the empty chair at the conference table with fluid grace, settling into it like he'd been invited rather than having just torn a hole through space-time to attend what was obviously a private team meeting.
"Don't mind me," Eidolon continued, his glowing crimson eyes surveying the assembled heroes with the kind of focused attention that suggested he was cataloguing their emotional states and probably their tactical readiness for whatever came next. "I'm just here to provide some much-needed perspective on the situation, and possibly to prevent you all from making decisions that you'll regret after you've had time to think about them more clearly."
Batman's expression didn't change, because Batman's expressions never changed when interdimensional wizards appeared uninvited to team meetings, but his posture shifted slightly in a way that suggested he was prepared for this conversation to become even more complicated and probably more expensive.
"Eidolon," Batman said, his voice carrying that particular gravelly tone that made statements sound like they were being issued from the depths of a cave filled with bats and questionable decision-making, "this is a serious matter."
"Actually," Eidolon replied with the kind of cheerful precision that usually preceded someone receiving very detailed explanations about why their assumptions were incorrect, "this is a matter that directly affected my friends, my allies, and most importantly, a fourteen-year-old boy who happens to be under my personal protection. Which makes it very much my business, regardless of your organizational chart and committee structure."
His crimson veins pulsed brighter, and the temperature in the conference room dropped several degrees in a way that suggested reality was paying attention to his emotional state and adjusting local atmospheric conditions accordingly.
"But please," Eidolon continued, his voice carrying that particular British politeness that made threats sound like dinner invitations, "don't let me interrupt your fascinating discussion about trust, betrayal, and the wisdom of creating detailed assassination manuals for people you claim to consider family. I'm sure you were just about to reach some very reasonable conclusions about accountability, operational security, and why targeting children with stolen intelligence is traditionally considered a career-limiting decision."
He leaned back in his chair, his armor crackling with energy that made the space station's electronic systems emit soft concerned beeping sounds, and waited for someone to continue the conversation he'd just made infinitely more complex and probably much more dangerous for everyone involved.
The Justice League stared at him, at each other, and at Batman, and realized that their private team meeting about contingency protocols and betrayal had just become something considerably more complicated.
And Batman, sitting at the center of it all with his unreadable expression and perfect cape arrangement, began to understand that his evening was about to become very educational regarding the practical applications of accountability when applied by people with cosmic-level magical abilities and very personal investments in the safety of children.
It was going to be a very long night for everyone involved.
---
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