She stays still. Hoping the villains will come back.

Tick…

Tick…

Click.

And then… nothing.

No footsteps. No mocking laughter. No dramatic return to watch her fall.

Just the groaning of warehouse beams and the quiet creak of a single, fraying rope overhead.

Velvet Vixen opens her eyes, staring up at the wobbling stack of crates above her. The timer has expired. She’s still alive—but the silence that follows isn’t reassuring.

It’s ominous.

“They’re not coming back,” she whispers through grit teeth. “They really just left me here. They think this is it.”

The crates shift slightly. A puff of dust falls onto her shoulder. The knot around her waist tightens as she instinctively squirms.

“Okay. Okay. Okay. No big deal. I just have to escape a ridiculous deathtrap... again. Superhero stuff.”

Her wrists are lashed behind the pallet. Her thighs and calves are pinned by a tangle of rope, looped around the wooden slats with cruel precision. Every tug makes the crates groan louder. She can’t afford to fight hard—not yet.

She stares at the crate beside her.

It’s old. Rough wood. A splintered corner.

And that’s when the idea strikes.