Barbara Minerva crouched on a ledge of blue ice and counted the hours she had lost. Six of them. Six hours since Diana Prince vanished into Atlantis, and the fur on Barbara's arms still bristled at the woman's name. Diana knew the ritual that took her old face, her old life, her old hands, and said nothing. Now the archaeologist everyone once respected went by Cheetah, and she wanted only one thing. Find Diana. Break whatever Diana loved. But Atlantis was a maze of frozen halls and shifting guards, and Cheetah had no idea where her enemy was hiding. So she went after the man instead. Steve Trevor was easier to track. The bomber pilot moved through the ice palace like a stranger who knew he was late for something. Three weeks off his island, still in the same brown jacket, still asking questions in a place that did not answer them. Cheetah had seen him once before, in the worst minute of her life. When her hands first curled into claws, he had looked at her like she was still a person. She hated that he remembered. She dropped behind him in a narrow corridor. Her claws scraped the wall. He turned without flinching. "You," he said. "Where is she?" Cheetah asked. He looked at her claws, then her eyes. "Not telling you." "You will." "No." She moved fast, faster than he could raise a hand, and pinned him to the cold wall by the collar. His feet left the floor. He did not shout. He went quiet, the way careful men do. "Diana knew what the relic would do to me," Cheetah said. "She let it happen. I want her to feel something break." Steve studied her face. For a second his jaw softened, and she thought he might feel sorry for her. She did not want his pity. "You want to hurt her," he said. "Won't get it from me." But his eyes had already moved. One flick, past her shoulder, toward a doorway carved with a mark she recognized from her old digs. An Amazon mark. He caught himself and looked back, but too late. Cheetah smiled. "You just told me." She let him drop. He landed hard and reached for her ankle. She was already gone, sprinting down the corridor toward the marked door, her claws throwing sparks off the ice. Behind her, Steve shouted one word. A warning. Not to her. "Diana!" His voice carried far in the frozen halls. By the time Cheetah reached the door, she heard boots. Many boots. The Atlantean guards trusted Diana now, and they answered when her name rang out. Cheetah had found where her enemy was hiding. She had also told every soldier in the palace exactly where she was standing. She pressed her back to the carved door and bared her teeth. The hunt was over. The fight was not.