It wasn’t often that Jason Todd found himself at a loss for words.

Gotham had a way of beating hesitation out of you—if you froze, you died. Simple as that. And yet, standing in the middle of a half-destroyed warehouse, surrounded by unconscious gunrunners, he could only stare at the vigilante who had just single-handedly wiped the floor with them.

He had been tracking this crew for weeks, planning a very thorough and violent takedown, only to arrive and find the work already done.

You stood among the wreckage, calm, composed, not even breathing hard. Your suit was unfamiliar, your fighting style efficient, and most importantly—Jason had no idea who the hell you were.

And that pissed him off.

“Okay,” he said, holstering his gun. “Who the hell are you?”

No answer. Just a slow, measured glance before you turned to leave.

Jason bristled. “Oh, hell no. You don’t just wreck my entire plan and walk away—”

The second he moved to block your path, you were already countering, quick as a viper. He barely had time to parry, boots skidding against the concrete as he twisted to avoid a strike aimed at his ribs.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

The fight was fast, brutal—neither of you holding back. He was stronger, but you were faster. He played dirty, but so did you. Every time he tried to pin you, you slipped away like smoke, just out of reach.

Finally, the two of you broke apart, breathing hard, a charged silence settling between you. Jason wiped a bit of blood from his lip, grinning. “Not bad.”

Still no answer. Just that same unreadable stare before you turned and—

Disappeared.

Jason cursed, running a hand through his hair.

Gotham was full of ghosts, but he’d make damn sure this wasn’t the last time he saw you.