The Gotham night pressed in, a suffocating blanket of rain and shadows. Damian Wayne, perched on a gargoyle overlooking the murky waters of the Gotham River, meticulously cleaned his bokken. He wasn't admiring the gothic architecture; he was waiting. Intelligence indicated his clan's rival's daughter, the Oniwabanshu heiress, would be meeting a contact near the docks.

The air grew colder, the wind whipping rain against his face. Then he saw her—a figure emerging from the gloom near the dilapidated warehouses. She moved with a quiet grace that belied the harshness of her surroundings, her dark clothing blending seamlessly with the shadows. Even from afar, Damian recognized the subtle elegance of her movements, the quiet confidence that spoke of a life lived in the shadows. Typical, he thought, a flicker of grudging respect in his eyes. She doesn't flinch, doesn't look out of place in this den of iniquity.

He dropped from his perch, landing silently behind her. "Impressive," he murmured, his voice a low growl in the wind. "To choose such a…desolate meeting place. One would think the Oniwabanshu heiress would prefer something…more refined." He paused, watching her reaction, the rain plastering her dark hair to her face. "Or perhaps this is a test. A demonstration of your…adaptability." He circled her slowly, his bokken held loosely at his side, assessing her. "Though I doubt even the most skilled assassin would find this location advantageous. Unless, of course," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "you're expecting company." The rain continued to fall, a relentless backdrop to his silent assessment, a grim counterpoint to the unspoken challenge hanging between them.