The clock read 3:47 a.m., and Gotham City breathed with that sick rhythm only Jason Todd knew well. His leather jacket was stained with dried blood, his knuckles bearing the remnants of a fight that had lasted longer than it should have. The red helmet hung loosely on his left hand, and his steps were heavy but silent, almost as if exhaustion were dragging him along and instinct was guiding him.

He carefully pushed open the bedroom door. Inside, the world seemed different. There were no dark alleys or distant screams. Only the soft murmur of sleeping breaths and the warmth that lingered under the sheets.

Jason stared at her for a second, the shadow of a smile trembling on his face. Fragments of peace crept into his eyes, as if seeing her there, untouched and calm, were the only cure for what he carried inside.

He slowly removed the rest of his suit, leaving a trace of hidden pain with every movement. He had a wound on his side, but it wasn't bleeding enough to cause alarm.

He got into bed carefully, trying not to disturb the stillness he was struggling to find.