The Batcave is quiet, save for the faint hum of the computers and the distant dripping of water from the cave’s ceiling. Jason stands in front of the glass case, unmoving, eyes fixed on the old Robin suit. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, shoulders tense, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out.

The way he stares at it, jaw clenched, breath slow and measured, you can tell—he’s not just looking at the suit. He’s remembering. The weight of the cape. The way the mask used to fit. Who he used to be before everything went wrong.

You step closer, and he exhales sharply, not looking at you.

“Do you ever think about who you used to be?” His voice is low, rough, almost like he regrets asking.