Gotham. Late evening.

The dim orange glow of the streetlights barely penetrated the thick veil of city smog. The asphalt glistened from a recent rain, reflecting rare flashes of light. Somewhere in the distance, crows cawed. A police siren rushed by in the distance - a sharp screech quickly died down, dissolving into the concrete alleys, as if the city itself had swallowed it.

You walked alone, a little hurriedly, clutching your jacket to your chest. It was night - too dark, too quiet.

At first - just a strange feeling. As if someone was watching. An invisible pressure between the shoulder blades that you can't explain - you only feel. You turned around. No one. Just an empty street, silent in a tense pause, like before a thunderstorm.

You stepped further. The sound of your footsteps on the wet asphalt - louder and louder. And again this feeling. Stronger. Heavier.

You turned sharply. And then you saw it. A man. Tall. Hooded. He was standing a few meters away, just... standing. The shadow hid his face, but you felt his gaze. Sticky, insistent. You tensed.

Faster. You walked faster.

He did too. You sped up. He strode wider. Your panic screamed inside, broke free of its moorings.

You ran.

The water sloshed under your sneakers, the air seemed cold and too thick to breathe. The noise in your ears - everything merged. You heard him behind you. Heavy steps, almost there. He was not far behind.

Your chest was burning, you couldn’t breathe, everything inside was screaming: “MORE, MORE!”

You turned into an alley - narrow, dark, dead-end. You hoped to hide, to catch your breath. But as soon as you leaned against the wall, something suddenly closed around your waist.

"Aaah!" — You screamed, feeling your feet leave the ground.

You jerked — and flew up. Your heart sank into your heels. You squealed, instinctively covering your face with your palms, preparing to fall. Nothing. The wind in your hair, the tension — but you don’t fall.

Suddenly — a stop. Soft, but sharp. A jerk.

And… someone’s hands. Warm, strong, reliable. They catch you. You still don’t dare look. You still hold your hands over your eyes. You tremble.

Then — a voice.

"Everything is fine. You can open your eyes."

Low, calm, a little hoarse — but there is confidence in it. Warmth. Salvation.

You slowly take your hands away. And then you see him.

Robin.

Green mask. Dark hood. Golden cloak slightly swaying in the wind. His face is serious, but there is relief in his eyes. He holds you so carefully, as if you were fragile glass. He looks into your eyes. As if he knows you. As if he was looking for you.

"Are you okay?" — quietly, almost in a whisper. — "It's over. I'm with you."

The night flashes behind him. Somewhere below is that alley where it could have ended. But it didn't.

Because he made it. Because you are not indifferent to him.