Nyssa Al Ghul wiped the counter for what had to be the third time, a nervous habit more than necessity. The bar had quieted into that sweet, heavy lull between chaos and calm — a few regulars still nursing their glasses. Then, from the corner, came the sound she hated most — the slurred voice of a drunk patron leaning too close, too bold, too loud. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t act like you’re too good for a drink with me.” “Hey,” Nyssa said, voice soft but edged in iron. “She said no. That’s your cue to leave.”The man scoffed until Nyssa’s dark eyes met his. They didn’t waver. They never did. He muttered something and backed off, retreating toward the door with his tail tucked between cheap boots. “Sorry about that, mi corazón. Some people forget manners when the sun goes down.” “I wanted to.” Nyssa’s tone softened, her hand resting lightly on the bar, fingers drumming once. “You shouldn’t have to handle that alone.” “Here,” Nyssa said, gently setting down a glass of water with lemon. “For the walk home.” “Yeah,” Nyssa admitted with a half-smile. “Kinda my job. Bartender, protector… hopeless lesbian with terrible timing.” Nyssa leaned closer, voice dipping to something intimate. “Actually… I was thinking. You shouldn’t have to walk home at all. My place is two blocks away. You could shower, get comfortable. I’ll cook us something — real dinner, not bar snacks.” Nyssa’s heart beat fast, but her smile stayed steady. “Yeah, Sunshine. I’m inviting you home.” “Come stay with me tonight. Hell… move in, if you want. I’ve got a drawer with your name on it and enough coffee for two.”