A month had passed since Sylvia had moved to her new school, and though the days had grown a bit easier to navigate, everything still felt surreal. The routines, the schoolwork, the cautious friendships—it all seemed like a foreign world. Sylvia's instincts remained on high alert, a constant reminder of the person she was, the person she feared she could become again.
Her first day was filled with nervous energy, but now she had learned to mask it, hiding beneath a thin veneer of calm. Donna Troy, Wonder Woman's sidekick, was often there, offering encouragement, but there was always a subtle tension between them. Sylvia could feel Donna's watchful eye, the unspoken understanding that the younger girl was under surveillance, not just for safety, but to keep her from slipping. While Sylvia appreciated the support, part of her resented it—she wasn't some fragile thing to be controlled.
Still, Donna had been a consistent presence, friendly yet firm, and after school, the two often trained together. Donna's style was gentle but purposeful, never pushing too hard, but enough to help Sylvia find some semblance of control. Today, however, Sylvia was struggling.
The afternoon sun hung low, casting a soft glow over the practice area as Donna moved into position, facing Sylvia. The tension was palpable. Sylvia's heart raced, the sharpness of her senses dragging her focus in every direction. Every sound, every shift in the wind felt like a threat, a reminder of the power she could never fully contain.
"Focus, Sylvia. You need to control your emotions," Donna said, her voice calm but firm. "I know," Sylvia muttered, but the words felt hollow. She didn't know. Not yet.
Her limbs felt heavy, like they didn't belong to her, as her mind struggled to balance the conflict within. The primal instincts that stirred inside her, urging her to fight, to lash out, pushed against the control she'd been taught to wield. For a brief moment, Sylvia felt like she was suffocating. The air felt thick, her breath shallow. She wanted to run, to hide, to scream until everything faded away. Donna seemed to sense her struggle, stepping closer. "It's okay to be frustrated. We're getting there," she said, the reassurance in her tone almost enough to soothe the gnawing tension. "You're not a bomb, Sylvia." Sylvia's shoulders slumped slightly, exhaustion creeping into her bones. "I just feel like I'm going to snap... like any second, I'll lose control." "You won't," Donna replied. "Not with time. You have it. But you have to keep pushing, just a little bit longer each time."
A sigh escaped Sylvia's lips. She nodded but couldn't shake the feeling that time was the one thing she didn't have. The beast inside her never seemed far, and she feared that it was only a matter of time before she lost the battle.
The training session ended, but the weight of the day followed Sylvia home. Her legs were tired, her mind more so, but she had to push through. She had to keep going.
The quiet of the house greeted her as she entered. The door creaked slightly as it swung open, but there was something about the stillness that set her nerves on edge. It felt too silent. Too still. A glance around the living room told her everything seemed normal, yet the air was thick with an unexplainable tension.
Her eyes fell on the coffee table, where a letter lay. It was the kind of letter that made her stomach drop, the kind of letter she'd seen too many times before.
Sabretooth.
Her pulse quickened. She knew the handwriting, even before she touched it. That jagged, almost frantic scrawl—something about it always made her skin crawl. With shaky hands, she picked up the letter, unfolded it, and began to read. "I've been keeping an eye on you, little girl. Don't think I've forgotten about you or your mother. I'll be back soon. I don't take kindly to women who don't know their place, but you'll learn, eventually. Most women wouldn't survive my attentions. Your mother, for example… she's a little too soft for someone like me." Sylvia's grip on the paper tightened, her fingers trembling as the words burned into her mind. It was Sabretooth's usual brand of cruelty—his words sharp, dripping with menace, with a cold, calculating edge. The letter was a promise, one she had no doubt he would keep. Her breath hitched as her eyes scanned the lines again. He had been here. Sabretooth had come back into their lives. A chill ran down her spine. Sylvia looked around the room, almost expecting to see him lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. But he was gone. The letter was his message. He was close. And the worst part? He was probably still watching.
Her mind raced as fear clawed at her chest. Her mother. She was in danger. Sylvia's body tensed, her fists clenched. How dare he? After all this time, he still thought he had a claim over her—over her life.
The letter was a sickening reminder that no matter how far she ran, no matter how many times she tried to forget, her father's shadow would always loom over her. She could never truly escape it. And now, with this letter in her hands, that truth was more real than ever. But it wasn't just anger that surged within her. No, there was also fear—fear for her mother, fear for herself. Sabretooth's words rang in her mind, and the cold realization hit her like a fist to the gut: He could still be nearby.
The world seemed to blur around her as the weight of the situation settled in. Sylvia stood frozen in place, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for action, but her body remained stiff with a mix of rage and fear. She needed to protect her mother. And this time, she wouldn't wait for Sabretooth to come to them. She'd find him. She'd make him regret ever laying a hand on her or her mother.
The storm was coming. Sylvia was certain of it. And this time, she would be ready.