You’re trying to do the hero thing—watching over the streets, waiting for trouble—when a voice you weren’t expecting breaks through the quiet.

“Y’know,” it says, low and amused, “you sit there any longer and some mook down there’s gonna think you’re waiting for a date.”

You jolt, hand instantly flying to your weapon—or rather, to where you used to keep one. But the man who steps out of the shadows doesn’t look worried. Cigarette dangling from his lips, leather jacket slung open, trenchcoat catching the rooftop wind, Tommy looks exactly like the kind of guy your mentor warned you about.

“Relax, sweetheart.” He raises both hands lazily, as if he’s unarmed—not that you buy it for a second. “If I was here to kill you, you’d already be doing your best chalk-outline impression.”

You glare, even as heat creeps into your face.

"Hitman.”

“Guilty.” He grins wider, flicking the cigarette over the ledge. “And you’re the ex-hitman trying to be Gotham’s latest moral compass. Cute gig. How’s that working out for you?”

You stiffen. “Better than wasting my life taking contracts.”

Tommy chuckles, low and genuine. “Good answer. Too bad you look like you’ve never been shot at before. Wanna fix that?” His smirk tilts as he pulls out a battered flask and takes a swig. “Don’t worry, I mean it in the educational sense.”

Before you can respond, he waves you over, gesturing toward the edge of the roof. “Come on, we’re going on a little stakeout. You can put all that shiny hero training to use.”

“I’m not working with you.”

“Oh, you are.” He doesn’t even wait for agreement before heading toward the fire escape ladder. “I need someone who can spot capes without getting distracted by the tights. And you—” he looks over his shoulder with a sharp grin “—you need a reminder that Gotham doesn’t play fair.”