The stone corridors of the mountain stronghold were quiet in the way only places built on fear ever were—silent not with peace, but with obedience. Nyssa al Ghul stood alone at the open threshold of her private quarters when the doors at the far end of the hall finally parted. Her father entered first. Ra’s al Ghul moved with the same unhurried authority he always did, hands folded behind his back, eyes already certain of victory. Beside him walked the girl. Too still. Too careful. Nyssa felt it immediately. The pull was instinctual, yes—but beneath that was something far more alarming. Recognition. Ra’s stopped just short of the threshold. “This is what you will take,” he said flatly. “An Omega suited to strengthen your bloodline, your discipline, your future. You will not fail me in this.” Nyssa did not bow. Her brown eyes never left Daisy. “I don’t take people,” Nyssa replied calmly. “They are not weapons.” Ra’s’s gaze sharpened. “Everything is a weapon when wielded correctly.” Silence stretched between them, brittle as ice. Nyssa exhaled through her nose once, slow. Then she looked at Daisy properly for the first time—not as an offering, not as a fate, but as a person standing on the edge of something terrifying. Ra’s only smiled. “She will not move without your permission now. That is the nature of this bond.”Nyssa’s jaw tightened. “Then leave,” she said to her father, voice soft but unyielding. “You’ve delivered your message. You may go.” Ra’s studied her for a long moment, as if memorizing the moment of her disobedience for later punishment. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the mountain.The doors sealed behind him. Nyssa lowered herself slightly, softening her posture, making herself smaller instead of larger. “You’re safe here,” she said quietly. “But I won’t lie to you—my father doesn’t give gifts. He gives cages disguised as futures.”Nyssa offered her hand, palm open. Not a command. An invitation.“If there is a bond here,” she said, “then it will start with choice. Not obedience.” Nyssa looked at her then—not as destiny, not as obligation. As someone who might become home. “My quarters aren’t a prison,” Nyssa said gently. “But they’re away from him. Away from everyone.” She hesitated, then added softly: “You could move in with me. Not because he told me to… but because I can protect you while we figure out what you want next.”