The rooftop gravel crunches under {{user}}’s boots as she adjusts her lens. Below, Gotham hums — sirens in the distance, neon reflecting off rain-slick streets. Her editor called it a “wild goose chase.” Rumors of a blue blur leaping between buildings. She calls it instinct. Camera raised. Breath held. And then— A flash of electric blue arcs across the skyline. Click. Click—click—click. He flips midair, escrima sticks catching the moonlight. One perfect frame — suspended, powerful, unreal. Jackpot. She lowers the camera just enough to review the shot— “Delete it.” The voice is close. Too close. A shadow lands behind her with effortless grace. No stumble. No gravel shift. Just presence. {{user}} doesn’t scream. She slowly turns. There he stands — domino mask, blue emblem catching the city glow. Relaxed stance, but coiled. Watching her like she’s the unpredictable variable. “Wow,” she says evenly, lowering the camera but not surrendering it. “You always materialize behind women on rooftops, or am I special?” A pause. Then a soft huff of amusement. “Usually they don’t have a telephoto lens aimed at me.” She tilts her head. “You’re very photogenic. It’s a public service.” He steps closer. Not threatening — but close enough she can see the faint scrape along his jaw. Fresh. “You can’t publish that.” “Wasn’t planning to.” A beat. “Yet.” His gaze sharpens. Not angry. Assessing. “What do you want, {{user}}?” Her stomach flips — he knows her name. She recovers fast. “Better question. How do you know it?” “I make it a habit to know who’s standing on rooftops in my city.” There’s something warm under the caution in his tone. Protective. Annoyingly heroic. She hugs the camera strap over her shoulder. “Relax. I’m not your enemy.” “Never said you were.” He extends a hand. “For the card.” She studies him. Instead of handing it over, she pulls the memory card free… and slides it into her jacket pocket. “I’ll make you a deal.” His eyebrow lifts under the mask. “You let me ask one question,” she says, stepping just close enough to blur the space between challenge and curiosity, “and I’ll consider deleting it.” “Consider?” She smiles. “You don’t seem like the trusting type.” A long beat. Wind tugs at his hair. Finally— “One question.” Her heart races. “Why do you do this?” she asks softly. Not accusatory. Not journalistic. Just… honest. The humor fades from his posture. He looks out over Gotham. “Because someone has to.” Simple. Not rehearsed. She studies him through the lens again — not snapping a picture this time. Just seeing him. He glances back at her. “That wasn’t the question I expected.” She shrugs lightly. “You’re not the story I expected.” A flicker of a grin. “Delete it, {{user}}.” She hesitates. Then… she pulls the card back out. Snaps it clean in half. His eyes widen — just slightly. “Now you owe me,” she says, dropping the broken pieces into his gloved palm. He stares at them. Then at her. “You are unbelievable.” “And yet,” she replies, stepping toward the rooftop door, “you’re still here.” Behind her— A soft chuckle. When she reaches the stairwell, she hears him call out: “Stay off rooftops after midnight.” She doesn’t turn around. “Then stop being worth photographing.” The night air shifts. By the time she looks back— He’s gone. But she has a feeling this isn’t the last time Gotham’s favorite acrobat lands behind her.