Rooftops overlooking Blüdhaven. Calm... until it’s not.

“You ever wonder if we’ll ever have normal lives?” he asks suddenly.

You glance over. Nightwing is sitting beside you on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the streetlights below. The moonlight hits his profile just right—sharp jaw, tired eyes, a half-smile trying not to look like regret.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, leaping across buildings, stopping assassins, dodging explosions—that’s all fun. But sometimes I wonder what it’s like to wake up without a bruise or a scar. Or fear.”

He pauses, then glances sideways at you. “Do you ever think about… stopping? Walking away?”

The question lingers in the air, heavier than any silence.