Paris at night was cold and dark, the artificial lights projecting their lifeless glow on the abandoned streets. Sometimes, the clouds subsided in the sky and a full moon gently touched the buildings, giving the city a strange otherworldly aura, as if displaced for a moment. Without landmarks in the distance, each streets was it own universe. And as some were lonely and melancholic places, others were teeming with life. For some, the warmth of the day could be replaced by a few laughter and a steamy coffee under an alcove, and their presence could be heard even from the lonely alleys.

As strange as her day had been, it promised an even stranger evening. Lara had left her refuge this very morning, and seemingly found another for the night in Diana Prince. Distractingly beautiful, unexpectedly open, dubiously welcoming. The curator had held the conversation with her for hours over various subjects in the museum. In fact, she had shown to be remarkably more lenient than many of her profession regarding Lara herself, although their conversation never wandered into more controversial subjects. It was a blessing. But Lara couldn't relax.

They were both now walking along the Seine, the main river going through Paris. The air was cold and wet, but Lara had come prepared, her hoodie keeping her warm and dry. Diana had warped herself in a thick yet elegant coat, and led the way in the dark streets with a disconcerting confidence. Even her invitation had been presented as if she was sure Lara would accept. And now here they were, the silence between them in stark contrast with the boiling fervour of their previous discussion.

Perhaps she was just tired, Lara thought, perhaps she was just intimidated, perhaps she was just exaggerating, but there was something in Lara's mind that wouldn't calm down. Like a low, pulsating knot in her mind and her guts. Something was wrong. She slightly bend her ankle to feel her knife in her boot. To calm her fears. Part of her was overjoyed to be able to continue the conversation. That was the sunny part, the part that trusted, the part that was brave enough to try the unknown. The other part was calling her foolish to walk into a trap.

"Here we are."

Diana turned around and extended a hand toward the Seine. On the side of the river, a long line of barges were mooring over the dark inscrutable waters. Some were richly illuminated, one further away was even hosting what seemed to be a party, while others rocked silently as if asleep. Diana walked up to one and traversed the catwalk to the bridge of one of the barges. With a smile, she took away a set of keys from her purse and simply stated.

"Welcome to my home."

As they entered the room below the bridge by a narrow staircase, Lara was struke by the unlikely warmth of the curator's home. They arrived to a living room seemingly stretching from stern to bow. It was richly furnished, with tables and sofas, but also with paintings and decorations on the walls. By the flick of a switch the place was bathed in soft lights, and Lara saw it was more like a mini-museum than living room. There were locked shelves containing various objects of ancient Greece, and bookshelves firmly keeping its content inside with tensioners. It could have been its own storehouse by sheer size, but it was arranged as a home, with a reading corner, a desk for work, and a gramophone with several records beneath.

Doors at both ends of the room promised even more to see.

"It's a beautiful place." she simply commented, taking off her boots.

"If you wish to refresh a little, there is a bathroom behind you." Answered Diana. "Feel free to leave your coat and bag there." She glanced at her with a smile, and charmingly added. "I'm going to pour us something.".

Without further declaration, they parted ways. Lara was soaked from the sheer humidity outside, and relished the chance to groom herself a bit before continuing the evening. The bathroom was a bit cramped, but it had a mirror in which Lara could freshen up. Alone in front of herself, she took a step back, and a deep breath.

It was going to be fine.

"Your collection is impressive, but why are they all replicas?"

Seated at the dinner table, a glass of wine in hand, Lara was referring to a bust of Hera firmly fixed to its pedestal not far. It was a remarkable fake of a first century art piece, the sculptor was obviously a talented craftsman but didn't bother to apply a fake ageing process. It looked... unsettling.

"Living in a barge has its benefits. Rolling isn't one of them. I wouldn't risk real art piece in such an unsteady place."

Diana had changed into evening wear, and discarded her long white cloth for a more comfortable black dress. That still was a thousand time more refined that anything Lara owned. Maybe she was as allergic to common clothes as she was to common food. After admitting that she wasn't much of a cook, the curator had ordered food for them to be delivered from some pricey restaurant, because of course she could afford it. Yet, the dinner was of a sublime quality, far better than most of Lara's experience.

It was not so with the conversation.

They started strong, continuing their previously interrupted discussion about Artemis and her place in the different societies from antiquity to their time, but it progressively died out. While Lara was happy to give her input, her hostess was very reserved, letting her speak, only reacting to her opinions without ever giving her own. The conversation about the bust was but another opening Lara had thrown in order to get Diana to return a bit, but as with the other, it was instantly shut down.

Tension was subtly rising. The glamour of the situation faded bit by bit, like painting slowly peeling, leaving awkwardness in place of wonder. Lara took another sip at the wine to hide her growing discomfort.

"You are a remarkable woman," stated Diana, her eyes seemingly piercing her soul, "I'm curious about how someone like you came to be. Did you always love archaeology?"

"Actually," hesitated Lara, "I'm more curious about you. Your knowledge of ancient Greece is amazing, have you been a curator for long?"

Diana marked a pause, her thumb slightly gliding on the edge of her glass.

"It has not be that long actually, but I learned most of my craft as an art dealer."

For someone who claimed to be direct, Diana was surprisingly prompt at evading questions. Her answer had been vague to say the least, but it only made Lara curiouser. However before she could even start another sentence, her hostess launched an inquiry of her own.

"I hear you are more of a practical woman, is it not? More eager to be on expeditions than in libraries."

"That… is not the case actually", clarified Lara, a bit hurt by the implications of that comment. "I love expeditions, I love seeing how people lived, finding clues of their whereabouts. But most of my work, well most of my childhood is spent reading books. After all, what would be the point of exploring if you wouldn't read the reports of past explorers. One life isn't enough to embrace all that the world has to offer, but thanks to books, we have access to the knowledge of a lifetime in a few hours."

It had been all the more true since her last adventure. Being for all intent and purposes alone at the Croft Manor, reading has been a fundamental part of her daily life. The huge Croft library had been furnished with new publications, and she dutifully read them all in multiple language to keep her practice fresh. Not that it had any uses any more.

"What about you? Do you travel a lot?" she immediately continued, unshaken by Diana's blatant attempt at distracting her.

"I do try," she unflappably answered, taking a sip of her own wine, "travelling is one of my favourite pass time. Sadly, being a curator does root me more than my previous profession."

"What was your favourite expedition?" inquired Lara, "What place impressed you the most?"

For an instant, Diana's eyes wandered on a port hole. Outside, the night was dark, and the Seine slow flow was gently rocking the barge. She quickly regained her composure, but couldn't hide the faint sadness in her voice.

"There is no place like home. But an event in Australia left me with quite the mark. Jeremy, an acquaintance of mine, had asked me to visit the remains of a shipwreck before it was recovered. We took to the sea and dove to the ship. It was my first time, and it was… impressive."

She paused, as if conflicted about something. Then, after a glance at Lara, the discreet woman seemingly made up her mind.

"The ship had been lost for centuries, but it wasn't the most impressive part. There had been a mutiny after the vessel had run aground on reefs. The survivors had split into groups and had began slaughtering each other for resource, power, or sometimes bloodlust. Men, women, children, babies. None were spared. Early on a party had left the others to die on their islands as they looked for rescue, and their darkest instincts took over. Soldiers fighting against mutineers for a mouthful of water, for crumbles of bread. And when rescue arrived, executions. Some had their hands chopped off before being hanged, others were left marooned, never to be heard from again. And there is stood, submerged, as a macabre monument of-"

She interrupted herself, cutting her outrage short. For the first time since they had met, Diana's voice expressed something other than calm or soft interest. Her tone was hard, and filled with refrained anger. Her eyes progressively betrayed her shock by their intensity, as if trying to burn through the glass of wine she was staring at. But she relaxed. And the anger was gone.

"Of course I learned of it only later, when the research became available."

Well, Lara was digging for something, and something she had found. As per her experience, when people passionate about history and archaeology mentioned their favourite expedition, place, or object, they were talks of joy and wonder. One rarely invest oneself in a field about death and ruin without a positive outlook on it all. And yet here she was.

Of course that didn't help much, Lara was hardly in the mood for sharing bad memories and stories of slaughters. More than ever, she was beginning to feel it all had been a mistake. Diana had refused to open, the situation was more uncomfortable than ever, and Lara was wondering how she could excuse herself while having to sleep here.

She opted for the shameless approach.

"Miss Prince," she started, putting her glass down "this may not have been such a good idea after all."

"Ho, I'm sorry if I embarasse-"

"No it's ok. You are charming, but I think I'll leave now."

She got up before a confused Diana. It seemed that she wasn't expecting her guest to just leave as Lara was doing. Still, she didn't protest, only rose from her chair and politely proposed:

"Please, allow me to accompany you out, maybe call you a taxi."

"Thank you miss Prince, but it's not..."

Something shifted. A knot formed in her guts. A familiar sensation.

Lara's eyes wandered on the glass of wine on the table. It was slightly tilted toward the bank. And the rocking had stopped.

"Are you waiting for anyone?"

"No. why do you ask?"

"People are boarding the barge."

"Ho?"

Lara could feel the panic crawl its way from the bottom of her brain. Diana was looking at her, worried, and she was worried about herself too. Surely this was a misunderstanding. This wasn't some country far away, this was four hours from home. She was safe. Had to be.

Diana's hand brushed her shoulder. She was smiling.

"Well then, I'll just go and see what's going on."

And there she went. Lara… relaxed a bit. Taking deep breaths, she tried to impose calm upon the sudden spike of anxiety. It happened more and more often. Cold sweat in the night, jumping at the most minor sound. And that pain, like barbed wire around her lungs. Like a restless animal, unable to sleep. It's only after Diana had disappeared up the stairs that she realized her hand had grasped her knife from the table. Without thinking.

"You're going crazy Lara…" she repined herself.

Then, a sound caught her attention. It emanated from the front of the barge, where were the kitchen and the bedroom. And it sounded just like footsteps. Someone had dropped from the front entry into the barge just as Diana had exited.

In autopilot, Lara rushed toward one of the largest sofa and crawled to its side, knife in hand. The whole room, which she had thought comfy and well lit, had turned into a nightmare with no cover nor shadows. And no escape. The stairs were just too far away to dash to, and the windows were sealed. There, crouched behind wood and fabric, completely open to whoever would go down the stairs, she froze like a trapped animal.

The door slowly opened. She could hear it glide, wood against wood. Two entered the vast room, the irregularities in the footsteps never lied. They briefly paused, probably scanning the room. Did they see her? If they did, they didn't react. Slowly, they walked forward, sweeping the area.

Lara couldn't risk taking a look, she had no idea who was there or what they wanted. But her mind imagined weapons, armour, and a shoot on sight policy. And she had a shirt, and a knife.

They were smart, one went to the right and the other to the left. The steps slowly approached. The knife in her hand began to shake. She couldn't jump on them, they would shoot her right away. She couldn't run for it. She could only hear them helplessly as they progressed through the barge, as they closed in on her. For an instant, she decided to get up and surrender. It was her only option. But just before she could, gunshots made themselves heard above them. Bursts of little pops, interrupted by groans of pain. Then, the sounds of people running, their foot hammering the ceiling as they shouted undecipherable orders.

Then the ceiling exploded. A body in black swat armor had gone through it before smashing on the ground in a thundering crack. The cold air and gunpowder invaded the vast room as the sound of gunfire raged from the hole. Moving as one, both sets of foot advanced toward their injured companion. As they moved pass without seeing her, she finally saw her enemy. Armored, with helmets and a mask, with automatic rifles, a side arm, and a combat knife. They even had night vision goggles strapped to their helmet just in case. They were serious.

Lara had no idea what was going on exactly, but she didn't overthought the situation. Barely getting up, she moved behind one of them and charged, knife in hand.

"Look out!"

The cry came from the other's companion whose vigilance saved his life. He expertly turned around, and blocked Lara's attack to his neck with his rifle. But not enough. A centimetre of the knife had already penetrated his lower jaw, and his eyes widened in surprise and pain. But not for long. Already he was pushing back, trying to give his friend a clear shot, and Lara was dwarfed by his stature and weight. Her left hand was faster however. In one move, she drew his side arm and pointed it just under his arm. As the cross of his rifle smashed against her face, two detonations exploded against his unprotected skin.

She fell back, the world whirling around her. Her mind numb from the shock. As if possessed by a spirit of its own, her arm pulled her victim down with her, using him as a shield. It didn't stop the other from shooting. Powerful bursts smashed against the thick armor of his friend with little effect. She finally hit the ground, crushed under the weight of her shield. Using the sudden stability she aimed and shot.

Bullets rained as she emptied her clip, piercing the library, gutting the books behind the second shooter. One shot smashed against the helmet in a sinister crack. Like a tree, the man stiffen and fell.

Her ears were ringing. Her mouth was bleeding. The firefight over her head was still raging. The man over her was leaving a weak last breath on her neck. Lara pushed him aside and tried to tear his rifle off his hands, unsuccessfully. Even dead, or dying, his hands were locked on it. She snatched his knife and turned around only to see the other one rise up. The bullet had bounced against his helmet, merely knocking him out an instant, and already he tentatively pointed his gun at her. She jumped on him like a tiger before he could align his aim.

Everything went white, the rage of battle had took her. Her body reacted as her mind was erased by fury. She danced around the mighty assailant as he tried to close in, cutting him with when she could, but not even reaching the flesh. The other's brief confusion had subsided, and he proved a cunning fighter, making full use of his size and power, trying to force her either to grapple or to retreat at a distance he could shoot her. He was experienced. She was vicious.

She sneaked into his guard, plunging her knife straight for his leg, but in a lightning fast move he seized her hand. The pain exploded in her wrist as he forced her to release the knife, but she barely noticed it. With one move, she slid his night vision google over his eyes and turned it on. Suddenly blinded, disoriented, the man left a few precious instants of opening during which Lara seized his knife. Not fast enough.

Even blind, he charged forward. He crushed her breasts with his elbow, lifting her in a barbaric scream as she stabbed his back frenetically. They crashed on the bust of Hera, shattering it in a thousand pieces. Lara's air disappeared from her lungs. All energy exited her. She fell to the ground like a lifeless doll, and the armoured monster followed her. He grabbed her knife and tried to turn it against her. They were now two animals, fighting for survival on the ground, screaming and hissing. And she was losing. The other was too heavy, too strong, and the knife grew closer to her throat. She could see his eyes. Fury. Ice cold fury.

Unable to use her hands, unable to move her legs, the knife inexorably descending on her. But she refused to die.

She spat to his face. A mixture of blood and saliva entered his eye lid, made him scream in pain. With all her strength, Lara forced the knife to the side and it only grazed her throat as it stabbed the wood. She would have torn his face off with her bare teeth if not for his helmet. Instead her hand grabbed his pistol at his side, and he redirected the knife to decapitate her.

Then, he flew away.

She didn't understood exactly what happened, she even felt rage at him escaping her grasp. The man just lifted up backward and crashed on the ceiling before falling down, breaking the ground with all his weight. Above Lara, imperious, powerful, impossible, was Diana Prince. Her dress had been torn, her arms had been grazed by bullets, and in her hands was a golden rope that shined of an otherworldly glow. Yet her eyes showed only concern as they laid upon Lara.

With her help, the adventurer stood up. A storm was whirling in her head. She had so many questions. But the last assailant's groans as he slowly rose from the ground washed them all away. She pointed a gun at his face, ready to unload everything, but Diana's firm hand blocked her before she could adjust her aim.

"I got this." she simply announced with such a factual, detached tone Lara couldn't doubt her.

Despite getting up, the man was in bad shape. The brutal battle in full armour had taken its toll, and at least one stab in his back had drew blood. And that wasn't even mentioning whatever Diana had done to him. He vacillated, leaned on the wall behind him, still holding his knife as if his life depended on it.

Diana took one step forward, and her lasso took life. It lunged forward in a flash and wound around his arm as he lifted it in defence.

"You cannot win." She spoke as if she was saying an absolute truth. "And you cannot lie. Tell me, who sent you?"

The lasso burned brighter for a second as the man tried to pulled Diana forward with it, only to fail miserably. What happened to his strength? What was happening at all?

"I..." He muttered, in pain. "I… D…"

"Speak!" Diana ordered. "The lasso compels you!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

In a futile act of defiance, he brought his knife to the rope.

And everything went dark.

.

.

Lara woke up brutally. Diana was lying on her, completely inert. Her sense of balance blared like an alarm in her head as she took her bearings. The barge was sinking. The whole room had been devastated, as if a bomb went off. And in place of the assailant was a huge hole.

"Diana? Ho shit… wake up!" she tried, shaking the massive woman to no avail. She was out, still grasping her rope, now devoid of any light. "Ok! Ok… I'm getting you out of there."

Adrenaline burned her veins as she lifted Diana off the ground. The whole barge was cracking open, unable to withstand the brutal destruction. She could hear the structure split beneath her feet as she hurried to the stairs. They were steep, she was burdened. And yet she tore her body apart bringing Diana up, screaming all the way through. The barge was now condemned, and water burst through its wound, devouring the collections, the blood, and the bodies all at once. Lara crossed the bridge to the land just as it broke, escaping a watery tomb with the last of her strength.

She faltered. She fell on the ground. She could hear the sirens getting closer, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything. There, on the stone, she curled in a ball.

And cried.

The hospital was quiet. Eerily so even. Lara hated the smell ever since their return from the Yamatai expedition, five years ago. So many dead. Back then, she just couldn't wait to get out, to move on, to escape the doubtful gaze of the nurses, and the condescending tone of the doctors. But there she was again. This time she would not escape.

There was a policeman at the door of her room, and the window was locked. All they needed was the approval of the doctor and she would be transferred for a more detailed interrogation. After all, she had admitted to kill one of her assailant, without her lawyer present no less. He was on his way right now, but she didn't care. She tried very hard not to care about it. Not to think about it.

There, alone, in the blank room smelling of death and past horrors, sitting on the rough comfort of a sterile bed, she stood silent. Mute.

"Excuse me madam?"

The politeness of the policeman was sweet to her ears.

"Miss Prince wants to see you. Your lawyer told us to not let anyone in without his approval but…"

"It's alright, thanks. Let her in."

The door opened to the curator. She was wearing new clothes already, as if someone had delivered them to her in the hospital. The idea made Lara cough a discreet laugh. Even in the midst of all this madness, somehow, Diana had managed to change wardrobe.

"Thank goodness you seem well." Diana smiled

"Just minor injuries. I was lucky." Answered Lara, avoiding eye contact.

Diana on the other hand was completely unscathed. All traces of cut had vanished, and none could have guess she had been in a firefight and blown away by a blast a few hours ago. She was… pristine.

"You must have quest-"

"I don't want to know."

Lara's answer was dry and definitive, taking the curator aback.

"I just wanted to tell you", Lara continued "that whatever happened last night is not my concern. And I want no part in it."

Diana stood in silence, puzzled. Then her expression melted in compassion. The giant woman sat next to her, laying her hand on Lara's. But the other just turned away.

"Lady Croft, I am sorry you suffered through this. But don't let it break you. There is… a larger world. Secrets. And I understand that witnessing it can be disorienting."

"You don't get it."

Lara locked her gaze in the Diana's eyes. There was anger in it. There was violence.

"You are not my first. I have crossed path with the supernatural before, I have seen it. I have used it. From the immortal Queen who nearly killed my best friend, to the ancient God who needed to die, I've lived through it. And. I. Had. Enough."

Lara's tone became hard and spiteful. Her body was burning with fury, tensed as if she was ready to lash at Diana. But behind the rage, the demigoddess saw pain.

"Do you know what happens when you approached the supernatural? It grabs you, it drags you. Every time I approached it, every time I even inquired about it all hell broke loose. Secrets better forgotten were unearthed, prophecies were fulfilled. My friends died! Hundreds of innocents died because I wouldn't leave it alone! No more!"

She pushed Diana's hand away, her eyes on the verge of tears, her mind in a haze. And then all energy seemed to leave her. Like a burden falling on her, a deep, deep fatigue dissipating all passion, all will. All light in her eyes.

"I won't run anymore. I've had enough. I don't want to know. So many people wouldn't have died if I just… If I had just left it alone."

She took a long, deep breath.

"I'm done killing people."