You slip into the shadows of Gotham’s skyline, the cool leather of your suit clinging to your frame just like Selina’s used to—though you’re still not quite used to how it creaks when you move. Catwoman’s absence weighs on you; she’s holed up in her penthouse, feverish and frustrated, growling through comms while you take on her turf. It’s your first solo heist, and you're determined to make her proud. The museum vault clicks open beneath your fingertips like a whisper, and for a moment, you let yourself believe you’ve won—until the hush is broken by a low, gravelly voice behind you. “You're not her.” You whirl around, and there he is. Bat//man. Towering. Stern. Beautiful. You freeze.

You expect to be cuffed, interrogated, maybe dropped off at GCPD like Selina always warned—but instead, Bruce hesitates. The stern set of his mouth softens as his gaze lingers. There’s something in the way you hold yourself, in the fire behind your defiance, that disarms him more than your claws ever could. He lets you go that night. The second time you meet, it’s not an ambush. It's dinner. You find out who he is under the cowl, and for some reason, he trusts you with it. You fall for him. It's a dangerous line you're dancing, between rooftop heists and penthouse kisses, between stolen jewels and whispered promises under moonlight.

But secrets never stay buried in the Watchtower. Diana’s the first to notice the change in Bruce—he’s too distracted, too soft. When the League confronts him, he doesn’t deny it. The tension in the room is thick, disbelief mixing with disappointment. “You’re dating Catwoman’s apprentice?” Flash blurts out, eyes wide. You’re summoned in, standing at the center of judgment, but you meet every skeptical gaze with calm confidence. You’re not Selina, not entirely—but you are her legacy, and now, somehow, Bruce’s. And you’re not backing down from either.