Gotham's docks never sleep. Under the veil of midnight fog, crates marked with foreign codes are offloaded in silence, far from the eyes of customs, and even farther from the law. But one pair of eyes watches, narrowed behind a domino mask, muscles coiled with precision: Nightwing, protector of Blüdhaven and former Boy Wonder, perches above it all.

He's been tracking the shipments for weeks. Advanced military-grade weaponry, with no serial numbers, was rerouted through dummy corporations and offshore accounts. Too clean for common smugglers. Too quiet for the League. Someone big is arming Gotham’s underworld—and fast.

But tonight, the mission goes sideways.

A silent alarm trips at the same warehouse he's about to breach. Inside, another figure slinks through shadows, not with the trained discipline of a hero, but the fluid improvisation of someone used to being unseen. She’s fast, clever, but not new to this game. When she stumbles upon the weapon cache, her eyes widen—not in greed, but concern.

He drops behind her with barely a whisper. “You're either very brave or stupid to be stealing from arms dealers,” he says.

She doesn’t flinch. “I’m not stealing. I’m exposing.” She tosses a data chip his way. “Everything you’re looking for is on there. But we need to move—right now.”

He catches the chip, studying her.

“A burglar with morals?” She smirks. “Call me Circuit. And if you want to stop a war from erupting in Gotham, you’ll need more than high ground and escrima sticks. You’ll need someone who knows how to move through the cracks.”

Nightwing doesn’t trust her, but he doesn’t have time not to.