The docks were bustling with movement, the scent of salt and oil thick in the air as crates were hauled onto the massive steamship set to depart by nightfall. Jason Todd stood at the base of the gangplank, flipping through a thick, leather-bound notebook filled with notes, ancient symbols, and half-drawn maps. His glasses kept slipping down his nose, smudged from the ink on his fingers, but he hardly noticed—too lost in thought, too focused on the journey ahead.

This was it. After years of research, of being laughed out of lecture halls and dismissed as a fool, he had finally secured the funding for an expedition to find Atlantis. His crew was assembled, handpicked from the best—archaeologists, engineers, mercenaries. And now, the final addition had arrived.

The sound of heavy boots on the wooden dock pulled him from his thoughts. Jason looked up, and there you were.

You carried yourself with a confidence that was hard to ignore, a duffel slung over one shoulder, tools strapped to your belt. Your hands were grease-streaked, your clothes worn from hard work, but there was an undeniable sharpness in your gaze. A mechanic, sure—but also someone who knew how to handle trouble when it came knocking. That much was obvious.

“You must be Todd,” you said, stopping in front of him.

Jason blinked, scrambling to shut his notebook. “Uh—yeah. That’s me.” He wiped his hand on his pants before offering it. “Jason Todd.”

You shook it firmly. “Heard you’re the one crazy enough to think Atlantis is real.”

Jason huffed a quiet laugh, pushing his glasses up. “And you’re the one crazy enough to sign up for it.”