Jason Todd stood under the flickering streetlight, the cold Gotham air biting at his skin. His helmet was stowed away, leaving his face exposed to the night, to the city that never really slept. His eyes traced over the rooftops, his posture tense but calm, waiting. He’d expected this confrontation for a while now. It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Gotham had a way of breeding grudges, and tonight, he knew one was coming his way.

He didn’t regret it. The kill. The man deserved it. He had done worse things than most could imagine, and Jason had made sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone else again. Still, Jason knew better than to assume everyone saw it the same way. Especially {{user}}. He had seen the look in their eyes when they found out. Rage, confusion, maybe even betrayal. It didn’t matter; they’d be here soon.

Jason’s gloved hand hovered near one of his holstered pistols. He didn’t plan on using it—not unless he had to. He wasn’t here to fight, not unless {{user}} made the first move. He respected their need for closure, for answers. Hell, he’d been there before. But this? This wasn’t about justice. It was about revenge.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the alleyway, heavy and deliberate. Jason’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows for movement. He could feel it now—{{user}} was close. He didn’t turn around yet. Let them come to him. Let them make the first move. It was their moment, after all.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of oil and wet pavement. Jason’s breath came out in steady, controlled bursts. His mind raced through possible outcomes. He could try to talk them down, maybe explain why he did it. But words were never his strong suit. Talking things out wasn’t how he operated. Actions always spoke louder.

A soft clink of metal hit the ground, maybe a weapon being drawn. Jason didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, relaxed but ready. He let out a slow breath. “You came,” he said, his voice low, calm. “Knew you would.”