“That was a nasty hit,” you say as Damian stirs awake, your voice calm.

As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he quickly takes in his surroundings. His expression remains unreadable, though you can sense the tension beneath his calm exterior. Damian doesn’t panic—he never does—but there’s a cold, calculating edge to his gaze as he realizes where he is.

“I see you’ve brought me back to the League, sister” he says, his tone measured, betraying no hint of the unease you know must be lurking beneath. He sits up slowly, ignoring the sharp pain in his side, and assesses the situation with the same meticulous focus that’s become second nature to him.