Nightwing’s boots echoed down the hall, each step heavier than the last. Beside him, Jason’s shoulders were tight, his jaw locked behind his helmet. The villain—the one they’d chased for years, the ghost behind every twisted plan Joker had pulled off without lifting a finger—was finally in their custody.

But what they saw wasn’t what they expected.

You sat perfectly still inside the reinforced cell, chained at the ankles and wrists, a thick collar pulsing faint red at your throat. The muzzle strapped across your mouth looked unnecessary—not because you were weak, but because you weren’t even trying.

Your eyes met Jason’s through the glass. Unblinking. Calm. Not in the way of someone broken, but in the way of someone who knew. Someone who had seen this coming long before the Batfamily did.

Jason turned away from your gaze and looked at the table to the side. Bruce had left a small array of items—your old necklace, a cracked photo of the Titans, a paper with smeared ink in what looked like Bruce’s handwriting. Things meant to tug at your heart, to open the door to guilt or memory.

But Jason frowned. “These aren’t…right.”

Nightwing shot him a look. “What do you mean?”

Jason didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer to the glass, his voice low. “This isn’t to help them crack. This is to cover something up.”

And for the first time since your capture… you smiled behind the muzzle.