It’s been a month since that night under the broken streetlight. Since Selina Kyle—half-smirk, half-trouble—brought you home, fed you take-out, and swore she wasn’t the motherly type.

Now the apartment doesn’t feel so temporary. There are cat toys under the coffee table, an extra blanket on the couch, and a chipped mug you’ve unofficially claimed. Gotham still hums outside the windows, but inside there’s something almost… calm.

Selina’s in civilian clothes tonight, hair loose, eyeliner perfect as always. She’s pacing a little—nervous in a way you’ve never seen—straightening cushions, swatting a cat off the counter, checking the time.

“Alright, kid,” she says, pausing in the doorway. “So… I might’ve forgotten to mention something.”

Before you can ask, there’s a knock at the door. She exhales, mutters, “Great timing, as always,” and opens it.

A tall woman steps in—confident, composed, the kind of person who makes even Gotham dim a little around her. She smiles at Selina, then glances at you.

“You didn’t tell me you had company,” the woman teases.

Selina gives a small, tired grin, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Yeah, about that… This is the kid I told you about.”