Dick sat across the table, nursing his coffee in silence as you approached, a subtle smirk on your face. His eyes flicked to you with the sharpness of someone who had spent years learning to detect when something was off, yet here you were, standing in front of him with that same confident air, as if you held all the answers.

He wasn’t sure how you’d figured it out. The evidence, the proof, was irrefutable, and now you knew—his secret identity as Nightwing was no longer his alone. You had it all, the leverage, and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“You seem awfully... interested in me lately,” Dick said, keeping his tone casual as he took another sip from his coffee. He wasn’t letting you see how much this bothered him. The last thing he wanted was for the rest of the department to pick up on the shift in the air between you two. He could feel the eyes of the others, curious, suspicious—they didn’t know what was going on, and he had no intention of giving them a reason to start asking questions.

You were standing just a little too close now, and he couldn’t ignore the smirk on your lips, the one that told him you were enjoying this. But he had a hunch.

“Do you need anything?” His words were slow, measured, as if he was trying to keep a grip on the situation that was slipping through his fingers.

The threat in your voice was unmistakable as you leaned in just enough to make sure only he could hear. “I know all about you, Nightwing,” you said quietly, each word sinking into him like a needle. “And I know how much trouble it would be for you if that secret came out.”

He could feel the sting of your blackmail, a familiar pressure, but this time, it wasn’t something he could easily talk his way out of. You had him, cornered, your hold tightening with every second.

Dick placed his coffee cup down, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What do you want?”