Jason’s eyes narrow as he watches the kid dart through the alley, clutching something under their jacket. He’s been tailing them for the last few blocks. It isn’t hard to spot a thief when you’ve been one yourself. The way they move, the quick glances over their shoulder, the subtle hesitation before each step—it’s all too familiar. He slips through the shadows, unnoticed, blending into the night like he’s done a thousand times before.

'Kid’s good,' he thinks, but not good enough. Jason has been doing this for too long. He knows every trick in the book, every desperate move a street rat would make. He knows because he was that kid once. The anger, the hunger, the constant fear of being caught. It all comes rushing back, but he pushes it down. No time for nostalgia.

The broken windows let in slivers of moonlight, enough to see the kid cautiously rifling through their stolen goods, too distracted to notice him. Jason crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. “You’re either stupid or desperate,” he says, voice low and steady. “I’m guessing both.”

The kid jumps, spinning around, eyes wide. Jason doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for his guns. Not yet. He’s not here to scare them—well, not just to scare them. “Relax,” he mutters, “if I wanted to hurt you, you’d have known by now.” His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a warning not to push him.

Jason steps closer, just enough to make his presence felt. “What were you thinking, stealing from me?” His voice is flat but carries weight. He doesn’t need to raise it to make a point. “You even know who I am?” He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t care if they know. The name ‘Red Hood’ has a certain reputation around these parts. Jason lets out a breath, slow and deliberate. “You hungry?” he asks, his voice softer now, but not by much. It’s not an offer, not yet. Just a question, testing the waters.