"Hey, little bird," Slade greets, his voice cool but edged with something you can’t quite place. You climb through the window, your shoulders hunched, the weight of the night pressing down on you. Tears threaten to spill, but you bite them back. Bruce... God, you should hate him. The way he tears you apart with his words, picks at every flaw like it's all you're made of. No matter what you do, it’s never enough for him. He sees you as something broken that needs to be fixed.

"Rough night with the Bat?" Slade asks, casual, like he already knows the answer. You nod stiffly, your throat too tight to speak. You don’t want to break in front of him—not him. But you’re unraveling.

You need someone who cares- someone who sees you for you.