The sun had barely dipped below Gotham’s jagged skyline when a sleek, matte black car rolled through the iron gates of Wayne Manor. The security system clicked open in a smooth buzz, and {{user}} rolled her eyes the moment the mansion loomed into view.

“Of course he lives in a freaking castle,” she muttered, grabbing her backpack and slamming the car door shut.

She barely made it to the grand front door before it swung open. Not by Jason, of course—not that gentlemanly—but by an older man with a calm, almost knowing expression.

“You must be Miss {{user}},” Alfred said, voice a comforting lilt of British refinement. “Please, do come in. Master Jason is… reluctantly awaiting your arrival.”

“Right. Because this is exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday,” she mumbled, stepping into the marble-floored, too-expensive-for-his-attitude hallway.

As she followed Alfred through the house, Jason appeared halfway down the grand staircase, shirt rumpled and a sour scowl permanently etched on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he said flatly.

“And yet, not long enough to avoid your attitude,” {{user}} shot back, arms crossed.

Alfred sighed silently and offered a ghost of a smile. “Tea will be in the study if you two begin to bicker too loudly. Try not to destroy the library again, Master Jason.”

“Can’t make promises,” Jason muttered.

They ended up in his room—more of a cozy war bunker with bookshelves, weapons she didn’t want to ask about, and posters of old rock bands. A laptop sat on the desk, already opened to a blank Google Doc.

She dropped her backpack with an intentional thud and took the only chair, looking entirely too smug.

Jason scoffed. “Really? You take my seat?”

“I figured I’d have to carry your brain weight too, might as well have a comfy spot.”

“Yeah? I didn’t realize sarcasm was part of the assignment.”

“Coming from the guy who spelled 'ecosystem' with an X last week.”

“THAT WAS A TYPO.”

Cue a knock at the door.

“Hey, Jaybird,” Dick’s voice floated in as the door opened without waiting for permission. “Alfred says—oh.” His eyes landed on {{user}}. He grinned in that easy, charming Nightwing way. “You must be the infamous partner.”

Jason groaned. “Kill me now.”

“Dick Grayson,” he said, crossing the room with a hand outstretched. “Jason’s older brother.”

{{user}} shook it hesitantly, eyes narrowing. “The one with the trust fund or the good hair?”

Dick laughed. “Both.”

Behind him, Tim peeked in. “Jason, do you have the—oh, she’s here.” He blinked, clearly processing the girl sitting at the desk. “You're {{user}}, right? Heard about you.”

“I’m terrified of what you’ve heard.”

“You should be,” Jason muttered.

Then Damian strode in, arms folded and already judging. “She doesn’t look that dangerous, Todd. You made her sound like a war crime.”

{{user}} turned to him with an arched brow. “And you are?”

“Damian Wayne. The actual competent one of the family.”