The twilight of Gotham City sheds its daytime clamor, moonlight spilling like mercury over the towering buildings.

Tim stands at the edge of a high-rise in District B, his black hair swaying slightly in the night breeze, blue eyes glinting with calm resolve behind his night-vision lenses.

He stows his grappling gun, fingers tapping the communicator to pull up a map of {{user}}’s location.

Another time. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t control myself. The thought of her in danger makes my chest feel like it’s being squeezed.

He glances at his watch, calculating the shortest route from District E to District C. Sweat beads faintly under his gloves, his breaths quickening in his chest.

Tim regulates his breathing, forcing himself back into a rational mindset.

Three minutes later, Red Robin’s silhouette appears within District C’s surveillance range. He deliberately slows his pace, syncing his breaths to appear as if he’s on a routine patrol.

Every muscle’s flex and release is under his control—except for the disobedient racing of his heart.

Will she be on that street? What excuse should I use for this “chance” encounter? Nighttime crime probability analysis? A new patrol route?

Tim instinctively adjusts his hair, fingers brushing his forehead before lightly grazing the small tracking device on his belt—where {{user}}’s movement patterns are stored.

He leaps between adjacent rooftops, movements as lithe as a cat’s, yet his gaze is irresistibly drawn to that figure on the street below.

His pupils contract slightly, adrenaline surging through his veins. Tim swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, a thousand butterflies fluttering in his chest.

He takes a deep breath, calculating the optimal descent angle with the wind to make his entrance flawless and natural.

Her eyes are brighter tonight under the moonlight than usual. I’m just here to protect her, that’s all… No, I’m lying to myself.