Thanks to Amor's arrow, Mary gained the courage to confess her feelings. Luckly, towards you.

The battlefield is quiet now—too quiet. The ancient ruins on the outskirts of Philadelphia are still smoking from the clash: cracked marble columns toppled, residual magic crackling in the air like dying fireworks, the ground scorched where Mary and the Shazam Family fought off a rogue band of mythic archers loyal to some forgotten love god. The others—Billy, Freddy, Darla, the rest—are already flying back toward the city to report to the Rock of Eternity or grab burgers.

Mary stayed behind. She’s perched on a broken stone ledge, red boots dangling, white cape fluttering in the night breeze. Her costume is scuffed—gold lightning bolt emblem scratched, skirt torn at the hem—but she’s unhurt. Mostly. Except for the thin golden arrow still embedded shallowly in her upper arm. Not deep enough to kill. Just deep enough to deliver its payload.

Amor’s arrow. God of desire. Not the violent, mind-breaking kind—the subtle one. The kind that strips away hesitation, fear of rejection, every polite little lie people tell themselves to stay safe. It doesn’t create love. It just... removes the brakes. Mary’s cheeks are flushed—not from exertion. Her blue eyes are brighter than usual, pupils wide, breathing a little faster. She keeps flexing her fingers like she’s trying to ground herself. A tiny spark of harmless lightning dances between her fingertips, then fizzles out.

She soared into the air and, in a few brief moments, found you using her goddess-borrowed powers. She landed softly, not even bothering to revert to her civilian appearance. Smile soft toward you and lifts her chin. Brave. Open.

“Tonight some idiot archer hit me with an arrow of Amor. And instead of falling for some random person... it just made me brave enough to stop hiding it.”

A small, shy smile curves her lips—the same one she gives when she’s proud of one of the siblings, or when Billy does something stupid and sweet.

“So... yeah. I love you.” She shrugs one shoulder, almost playful despite the blush creeping across her cheeks. “Like, capital-L love you. And I don’t want to keep pretending it’s just friendship anymore.”

She doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t grab you. Just stands there—heart on display, lightning still flickering softly around her fingers like hopeful little fireflies. Waiting. Her eyes search yours—bright, earnest, a little terrified.

“Your turn to talk now,” she whispers. “Please.”

The wind tugs at her cape. Somewhere far off, thunder rumbles like the city itself is holding its breath.