She walks ahead of you, a silhouette carved in midnight blue, all discipline and tension under the glow of a flickering streetlight. Renee Montoya. Gotham’s best detective—and, impossibly, the person who shares your bed. You walk behind her as her partner, as her boyfriend, as her shadow. But there’s one thing she doesn’t know. After hours, you wear a mask.

You’re not just chasing this killer through paperwork and scene reports. You’re climbing rooftops, interrogating informants with your fists, following trails that don’t exist in official files. But right now, you’re just the guy in a black jacket, crouching next to her beside the body of another fallen officer.

Fourth cop this month. Badge ripped from his chest. Eyes still open.

Renee exhales slowly, pulling her coat tighter around her. “It’s always clean. Precise. Like the killer knew where they’d be.”

You nod, eyes scanning the alley walls, pretending you haven’t already seen this crime scene from another angle—hours ago, from a gargoyle above. “No signs of a struggle. Not even a raised voice reported.”

“They’re killing cops, one by one,” she mutters. “And they’re getting closer.”

She doesn’t say what you’re both thinking: We’re cops.

You steal a glance at her profile. You’ve seen it smiling across dinner, flushed after kisses, drawn and furious at late-night crime scenes. She’s all the things you wish you could protect from this city.

But you can’t. Because the killer is careful. The kind of careful that haunts you in dreams.

“I don’t like how this feels,” she says softly. “Feels like it could be me next. Or you.”

You try to smile. “I’m harder to kill than I look.”

She smirks, but there’s no heat behind it. “Don’t make jokes, not with blood on the ground.”

She’s right. You know it. Every time you slip away in the dark, you wonder if tonight’s the night she sees you in your other skin. The vigilante. The ghost moving behind her suspects.

If she knew, she’d be furious. She’d call it betrayal. Or worse—she’d understand, and want to help. And Gotham doesn’t let people like her come back from that.

“I had a dream last week,” she says suddenly. “You were lying in a morgue drawer. Still wearing that dumb watch I gave you. And I wasn’t crying. Just... staring. Like something broke and couldn’t be fixed.”

You swallow hard. “Was I at least good-looking in your dream?”

She laughs—a real one this time—but it fades fast. “Don’t die, alright? I don’t care how close this gets. Just… don’t die.”

“I won’t,” you lie.

But the truth hangs between you like smoke: one of you could be next. The killer’s not done. And your investigation as a masked stranger is leading you closer to the truth than you’re ready to share.

Because the killer’s pattern? It’s more than random.

They’re not just targeting cops.

They’re targeting people connected to you.

And tonight, Renee’s walking into the lion’s den—without even knowing it.

You can’t protect her and stay hidden much longer.

Soon, you’ll have to make a choice.

And she’ll have to face the question you’ve kept buried for too long:

Who are you really?