Damian stood near the passenger door, arms crossed, black hoodie zipped halfway up. He tapped his foot impatiently, clearly more tense than usual.

“She’s going,” he stated, again, with the same conviction he used in battle.

“No, she’s not,” said Tim flatly, adjusting his hoodie and scrolling through something on his phone. “You literally kidnapped her gear to force her out of patrol tonight.”

“Tactical deterrent,” Damian corrected coldly. “She needed… encouragement.”

Just then, {{user}} walked around the corner, hands deep in her jacket pockets, wearing worn boots and that same determined glare Damian both admired and feared.

“Really?” {{user}} said dryly, eyes locked on Damian. “You hacked my patrol route, rerouted my comms, and told a gang I’d be ‘on vacation’ just to drag me to the mall?”

Dick gave a low whistle and leaned against the SUV. “Someone’s committed.”

Jason smirked from the backseat, sunglasses on. “I’d say whipped, but Dami doesn’t know what that means yet.”

“Shut up, Todd,” Damian snapped. But his gaze flicked back to {{user}}, softening. “You need new gear. I noticed your boots have holes. And your taser shorts out every third shot.”