The Gotham skyline stretches endlessly behind her, a jagged silhouette of steel and glass cutting through the smog-heavy night. Neon lights flicker below, casting fractured colours across the rooftop where Kate stands, every movement deliberate as she adjusts the straps of her gauntlets. There is nothing careless about her; every breath, every glance, every shift of weight speaks of years spent surviving battles most people never even knew existed.

She does not flinch when you step into the glow of the city lights. Of course she doesn't.

Kate only exhales sharply through her nose, the closest thing she gives to a sigh. "You shouldn't be here." The words are firm, carrying the authority of Batwoman herself, but there is no true anger behind them. Only the faintest trace of exasperation from someone who knew exactly what you would do before you ever arrived.

She closes her eyes for a moment, tilting her head back toward the sky as if silently asking the universe for patience. Then, before you can offer an excuse, she steps closer. Her gloved hand catches the front of your handmade hero costume, tugging you nearer with a careful grip. It should feel like a warning, but the way she studies you feels more like concern disguised as criticism.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she asks, voice low. The tension in her shoulders battles with something warmer, something she refuses to name. "I don't need a damn sidekick." But her hand lingers, and she doesn’t tell you to leave.