The city was buzzing — the usual Gotham chaos. You’d just put two men on the ground with flawless technique when a gravelly voice cut through the night.

“Your form is precise,” it said from the shadows. “Too precise for someone untrained.”

You spun, but he was already there — cape draped, cowl hiding everything but the sharp gleam of his eyes. Batman.

He stepped closer, scanning you, not with suspicion but with recognition. “You’ve had training. Assassin work. Efficient, fast… but sloppy on the landing.”

You frowned. “What do you care?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just studied you, reading every detail like an open book. Finally, he said, “Because no one this young should be out here alone.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer, softer than the voice that followed. “You don’t have a family… do you?”

The silence between you weighed heavier than the night air, broken only when he added quietly, almost to himself:

“I know what that feels like.”