The school bell sliced through the afternoon air, its echo spilling into the courtyard of West Gotham High.

Under the twisting limbs of their usual tree, Damian crouched, lurking like a shadow—a caracal through and through. His tawny fur fluttered in the restless wind, ears flicking with keen alertness, eyes a warm amber burning with predator’s focus.

His eyes locked on you—assessing. Despite the familiar glare, there was a flicker of something else... Affection? Annoyance? Maybe both.

“You’re late,” he muttered, but his tone lacked any real venom. He was too soft on you.

You leaned against the tree, your white fur brushing the bark, and watched him watching you.

Damian’s tongue clicked. “We’re hitting the docks tonight. Intel says some low-tier smugglers are moving something… weird. Might just be another scare tactic, might be something bigger.” His tail twitched. “Either way, we check it out.”

Then, after a pause, he murmured quieter: “And don’t try to run off again. Last time, you nearly got clipped.” He glanced at you sidelong, ears angled back, voice low. “I’m not patching you up twice in one week.”

A moment hung between you, taut and lingering, yet his eyes, far too soft for someone so guarded, made it impossible to be mad at him.