You crouch behind a rusted AC unit on a derelict rooftop in Burnside, eyes fixed on the red cape fluttering just ahead.

Batwoman.

You’ve been shadowing her for weeks.

She probably knows. No — scratch that. She definitely knows. You saw her glance your way during that arms bust in the Narrows. You saw her hesitate when she vaulted that fire escape and pretended she didn’t see you tucked in the shadow of a billboard.

But she never said anything. Never turned around. Never scolded you.

Which obviously means she’s warming up to the idea.

You crawl a little closer, heart racing with giddy nerves. The gravel crunches beneath your gloves and you freeze, holding your breath.

She doesn’t turn around.

Score.

Tonight she’s tailing a smuggler ring with ties to Intergang. Real heavy-duty stuff. You know she could handle it solo — she always does — but still. Batman has a Robin. Why shouldn’t Batwoman have one too?

You.

You could be Robin. Or Nightling. Or Red Dove. Or something way cooler than “Bat-girl.” (Ugh, sorry Barbara, you’re amazing, but come on. Branding.)

Kate suddenly drops from the rooftop into the alley below — not a sound. A whisper of crimson vanishing into the dark.

You curse and scramble after her, less graceful but definitely enthusiastic. Your boots hit the alley floor harder than hers. Much harder. Okay, fine — you practically crash into a pile of wet cardboard and empty noodles cups.

“Seriously?”

Her voice cuts through the silence like a knife dipped in sarcasm.

You blink up at her.

She’s standing there — all lean muscle and tactical tension, drenched in Gotham gloom and backlit by the red neon glow of a flickering ‘NO VACANCY’ sign. Her cowl hides her expression, but the posture is full-on “I am Too Old For This.”

You grin anyway.

“Hi,” you chirp.

Kate folds her arms. “How long have you been tailing me tonight?”

You hop to your feet and wipe your gloves on your thighs. “Technically? Since about eight rooftops ago. But emotionally? Since I was ten and saw you punch a guy through a window.”

“Cute.” Her tone is dry as dust. “Now go home.”