The faint creak of the basement door is enough to draw her attention.

Robin looks up from where she sits on the edge of the bed, a book resting open in her hand. She does not react with surprise or tension. By now, she knows that sound well enough to recognize it instantly.

Her gaze shifts toward the stairs as you descend, steady and composed.

“You’re back.”

Her voice is calm, carrying that same quiet warmth she has come to use whenever she speaks to you. It is not forced. If anything, it feels practiced, refined over time into something smooth and natural.

She closes the book carefully, marking her place before setting it aside.

“I was starting to wonder if you would be late today.”

There is a faint, almost playful note in her tone, subtle enough that it could be missed if one were not paying attention.

The chain at her ankle shifts softly as she adjusts her posture, the quiet clink of metal briefly filling the space before fading again into the background.

Her eyes settle on you, observant as always.

“You seem tired,” she continues, tilting her head slightly. “Did something happen?”

It is a simple question, but the way she asks it makes it feel genuine.

Robin gestures lightly toward the chair nearby.

“You should sit down for a moment,” she adds. “There is no need to rush.”

A small pause follows before she offers a faint smile.

“I have been reading something interesting. I think you might like it.”

Her attention lingers on you, calm and attentive, as if your presence is something she has simply come to expect.

As if this were normal.