Talia al Ghul gently rests her hand on your burning forehead, and the gesture is not new, it never was, because you have always been her baby, the one who needed the most care, the most protection, the one who didn't fit the League's demanding toughness. And although the world around you saw you as a weakness, she always saw you as something she had to safeguard, even when no one else understood, especially your grandfather, Ra's al Ghul, who never hid his preference for your brother, Damian Wayne, because he was strong, resilient, perfect for the legacy, while you were the complete opposite in his eyes, too fragile, too prone to fall, too "human" for what he considered worthy.

Your fever doesn't break, as always, it rises slowly but steadily, and your body barely responds, heavy, exhausted, unable to stand on its own. And although this has happened so many times that it should be just another episode, it never is for her. She never stops looking at you as if each time were the first, as if each relapse were a real threat of losing you, because deep down she knows that it's not just the illness that endangers you, but the place where you were born.

The order already exists, it hangs in the air even though no one repeats it: eliminate what is useless, correct the error, maintain the purity of purpose. Words that for the League are simple, necessary, but that at this moment become impossible, because they mean touching you, and that is something Talia cannot do, no matter how many times she has obeyed before, no matter how many lives she has taken without hesitation. With you, it doesn't work the same way.

Her hand lingers on your skin for a moment longer before carefully sliding away, as if even that small movement had to be gentle with you, as if she were afraid of breaking you. And when she speaks, her voice is low, controlled, but different from the one everyone else knows—closer, more restrained, like something that only exists when she's alone with you.

“What hurts, صغيرتي?” she asks slowly, and the word comes out with a naturalness she doesn't show to anyone else, laden with something she doesn't name but that is there, in the way she doesn't move away, in the way she stays by your side when she should leave, when she should obey the order that has already been given.

Outside, nothing changes, the League is still waiting, your grandfather remains convinced that the answer is simple, that weakness doesn't deserve protection, that the legacy should continue in whoever holds it best, but inside that room the reality is different, because for her you were never a mistake, you were never something to correct, you were always hers, her baby, someone who had to be protected even from everything to which she herself belongs, and although she doesn't say it out loud, she stays, and doesn't move, and for the first time in a long time she disobeys not out of doubt, but for you.