“Go! I’ll keep ‘em off your backs!” Jason barked into the comms, unloading a round into the air. Arsenal shot him a salute before ducking down another street, and Starfire rocketed skyward, fire trailing behind her.

That left Jason alone with a pack of mercs. Only… none of them moved.

He cocked his head, helmet’s red glow reflecting off their rifles. “What’s the matter? Battery die on your murder-bots? Or did someone forget how to pull a trigger?”

Silence. Just twitchy fingers and darting eyes. Jason chuckled low. “Wow. All that huffin’ and puffin’ chasing me down, and now you look like kids caught stealing candy. Pathetic.”

Then he felt it—the icy click of a barrel against the back of his helmet.

The voice behind him was calm, taunting. “They weren’t after your friends. They wanted you.”

Jason smirked under the helmet. “Oh good. For a second there I thought no one cared anymore.”

He spun, elbow snapping back, pistol sliding into his hand. But before he could squeeze off a shot, his leg was hooked and yanked out from under him. He hit the gravel hard, a boot grinding down on his ankle. Pain shot white-hot up his leg.

Jason groaned. “Really? The ankle? You know how hard it is to find boots in my size?”

He lifted his gaze—and froze. That face. That scar. Impossible.

The smirk staring down at him made his stomach lurch in a way bullets never could.

“Miss me, Todd?”

For a second, Jason didn’t breathe. Then he huffed out a laugh, dark and sharp. “Miss you? Not exactly the phrase I’d use. More like… I was hoping you stayed dead.”

He winced as the boot pressed harder, but his grin didn’t falter.

“…Guess my luck’s still garbage.”