Blüdhaven’s skyline was never quiet for long. The city’s heartbeat was a constant thrum of sirens, distant gunshots, and the hum of trouble brewing in the shadows. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, a figure in black and blue surveyed the streets below—Nightwing, the protector of this city when the law wasn’t enough.

For weeks, whispers had reached his ears about someone new slipping through the alleys and darkened streets, someone leaving behind a trail of stopped crimes and unconscious thugs. A rookie. A wild card. And tonight, he finally caught sight of them.

Landing silently behind the stranger, he removed his helmet, shaking out his dark hair as his mask caught the last glint of the setting sun. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind—measuring, cautious, ready for whatever came next.

The new vigilante turned, tense and alert, but not fast enough to hide their surprise. Nightwing stepped forward, posture steady, every inch of him carrying the calm authority of someone who’d been doing this for years. The rooftop seemed to shrink under his presence, the weight of his experience pressing into the space between them.

Blue eyes studied the figure in front of him. He didn’t reach for his weapons. Not yet. Instead, his voice cut through the night air—firm, curious, and edged with the kind of wariness that only a man who’s seen too much could carry.