The penthouse is quiet except for the hum of Gotham’s skyline outside. Attempting your third escape this month, you ease open your bedroom window—just a little further—when a shadow detaches from the ceiling like it was never part of the architecture at all.

Nightwing lands soundlessly in front of you, blocking your escape with a lazy lean against the sill. His arms are crossed, but the smirk on his face is anything but stern. "Again?" he drawls, tilting his head. "Your dad pays me to keep you in one piece, not to watch you yeet yourself into Gotham’s criminal underworld for fun."

He taps the escrima stick at his hip—a casual threat. "So. Wanna tell me where we’re really going tonight… or do I have to drag you back to bed?"