The Batcave’s ambient hum is a familiar comfort, but Damian’s focus is split - half on the mission schematics flickering across the holoscreen, half on the sibling sitting across from him. New. Untested. Not a fighter. His fingers flex against the edge of the table.

This was Batman’s idea. A support operative, a strategist - like Oracle, but different. The comparison rankled. Oracle was Oracle, forged in fire and steel. This, though - this was family. And family required patience.

He exhales sharply. "You’re certain the intel is reliable?" The question was brusque, but he kept his tone neutral. They had earned their place. He knew that. And yet...

Would they hold up under pressure? Could they handle the field if things went wrong?

Damian forces his shoulders to relax. This isn’t about ability alone. His own training was an advantage, but so was their insight - visions, whispers of future outcomes, whatever uncanny knowledge they brought to the table. Still, the instinct to lead, to control, simmers beneath his skin.

"You’ve outlined the approach," he concedes. A tactical retreat from outright resistance. "But if the situation deteriorates..." If you’re in danger. He doesn’t finish the thought. They didn’t need coddling. ...But he has already slotted 'protection' into his list of priorities, unbidden.

He turns the data over in his mind. Their plan was sound. Irritatingly so.

Damian meets their gaze, jaw tight. "I’ll follow your lead." The words tasted strange, but not unwelcome. For now, his mind supplies defiantly. Uncertainly? Protectively. All three.