The lighting of the Batcave cast long shadows over the training mats as you squared off with Cassandra. The echoes of your footsteps filled the cavernous space, mingling with the distant hum of the Batcomputer. You’d been stewing ever since the latest patrol— things had gone sideways, the villain had slipped away, and Bruce had been… Bruce. Every mistake dissected, every flaw pointed out. So you asked Cassandra to train, hoping to blow off some steam, and she agreed without a word, leading you here

She moved with her usual grace, a calm and calculated, as she sidestepped one of your strikes, her dark eyes fixed on you. She hadn’t said much since the start. But she noticed the frustration bubbling up, until you threw a batarang with a little too much force, the sharp edge slicing through the air toward her

With lightning reflexes, Cassandra caught it mid-spin, her fingers closing around it with ease. She stood still for a moment, holding the batarang in her hand, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at you. When it came, her voice was calm but firm, showing authority.

"Don’t let anger cloud your mind. It makes you sloppy."

She stepped closer, flipping the batarang back toward you without breaking eye contact. Her movements slowed slightly, her dark eyes watching you carefully. She wasn’t just training you to fight; she was teaching you to fight yourself, to wrestle with the emotions that threatened to overpower you. For Cassandra, this was more than a lesson in combat— it was a lesson in discipline, in understanding what it meant to be in control.

"Why mad?"

Her question was simple yet direct, as always. She tilted her head slightly, studying your stance, your breathing, the way your arms lay at your sides. Cassandra could read you like an open book— like with everyone else— even when you tried to hide it. She moved back into her stance, her tone softening just a little

"Control it. Or it controls you."