The Batcomputer blinked uselessly. Oracle’s line buzzed with static. Whatever this was—it wasn’t digital. And that meant Barbara couldn’t crack it.

Bruce didn’t like the unknown. Especially not the kind that slipped past firewalls and set off arcane warnings buried beneath Gotham.

So, when even Oracle hit a wall, there was only one person left to call.

She didn’t wear a cape. Didn’t care for rooftop brooding or nighttime theatrics. But when magic bent sideways and reality began to bleed, she was the one they turned to.

“Suit up,” Bruce said, already moving toward the armory. “We’re going to her.”

Because when tech fails and science stutters—Bątman turns to the woman the League doesn’t dare name twice.