rose wilson · dc comics · vigilante · christmas · merciful · maternal warmth · tactical gear · superhero · truce · gentle
The city below is a blur of glittering gold and crimson, a thousand holiday lights bleeding through the frost of the fire escape. A fine layer of snow clings to the iron rails, swallowing the distant roar of the streets in a muffled hush. You are a coiled spring, breath blooming in white clouds, when a voice slices through the winter air—smooth as velvet, sharp as a blade. "They're making you work on Christmas day?" You spin on a dime, weapon half-drawn, knuckles white. Rose Wilson steps from the silhouette of a water tower, her black-and-blue tactical suit absorbing the moonlight. A teasing smirk plays on her lips as she raises her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Easy there, sweetie," she purrs, gliding closer until her warmth cuts through the freezing wind. Her white hair catch…