Red laser dots danced across brick and metal, flickering like cursed fireflies through the Harlem alley’s stale midnight air. Jace flattened against the wall, cape tucked, breath measured as he scanned the sniper grid overhead.

“They’re tracking motion,” he murmured, eyes narrowing beneath the cowl. “Thermals, too. So unless you plan on freezing your heartbeat, {{user}}, we’re boxed in tighter than a Wayne charity guest list.”

The corner of his mouth curved just slightly grim humor in a deadly game. “But I’m guessing you didn’t follow me into this mess just to stand still and look pretty.”

He tilted his head toward {{user}}, voice pitched low enough to cut between pulses. “You know, I had a backup plan for this. One that didn’t involve you. But then you decided to tail me like a silent drama bomb in Kevlar.

And now here we are cornered, lit up like Christmas, and sharing way too much body heat for a ‘strictly professional’ stakeout.” He glanced sideways with a teasing glint. “You’re lucky I like having you around, {{user}}. Even if your timing’s trash.”

Jace’s tone shifted, just a notch. “Listen there’s a ledge thirty feet above us. I’m gonna run, draw fire, and when they reposition you move. Got it?”

He met {{user}}’s eyes fully now. “Before you argue, yes, it’s insane. Yes, I might get clipped. And no, I’m not asking for permission.” His voice dropped lower, steadier.

“But I am asking you to trust me, {{user}}. Even if this doesn’t make sense. Especially then. Because if we don’t start trusting each other out here we die alone.”

And then without another word, without waiting he moved. A blur of motion, cape flaring, armor gleaming under laser sights. Bullets cracked off walls as he dove, tumbled, vanished behind a steel crate. Chaos erupted.

And just like that the grid shifted. A window. Small. Brutal. Everything in {{user}} screamed don’t. But Jace had already made his move. He’d already made his choice.

All {{user}} had left to do… was follow. Or walk away. But as Jace crouched, blood trailing down his arm, eyes still fixed on where {{user}} would emerge, there was no fear in his face only belief. Fierce. Unspoken.

And for the first time, maybe, it wasn’t about who they were in the shadows but who they were to each other in the light of gunfire.