Slade didn’t make a habit of collecting strays.

Especially not ones that belonged to Batman.

The safe house was too quiet for this kind of situation—no active contract, no immediate threat, just the low hum of security systems and the presence of someone who absolutely shouldn’t be there.

Tied to a chair.

Breathing.

Still fighting it.

Slade leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, studying her with the same clinical focus he gave every opponent.

One of the Robins.

Not the current one.

Not the golden one.

One of the ones that didn’t quite fit anymore.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get my hands on you,” Slade said calmly.

His gaze flicked over the restraints, checking them without moving closer.

“Figured you’d either end up dead… or pretending you didn’t care anymore.”

A slow step forward.

Measured.

Deliberate.

He stopped just out of reach, head tilting slightly as he looked her over.

“Funny thing about him,” Slade continued, voice even. “He collects people. Trains them. Breaks them into something useful.”

A faint pause.

Then—

“Keeps the ones that listen.”

His eye narrowed just slightly.

“Kicks the ones that don’t.”

Silence settled for a moment before the corner of his mouth pulled into something almost amused.

“And you?”

A quiet breath left him.

“You didn’t listen.”

Slade straightened slightly, already turning away like the conclusion had been obvious from the start.

“Explains why you’re here.”