Bruce had been watching you for weeks. Not with the Batcomputer, not through satellites or trackers — but with his eyes. He noticed the way your stance tightened before a strike, the way you exhaled before a throw, the disciplined silence in every movement. These weren’t quirks of a self-taught fighter. They were tells — echoes of the League of Assassins training he knew all too well.

And so, when a lead in Gotham surfaced — whispers of weapons moving through the Narrows — Batman didn’t call Nightwing, or Batgirl, or even himself. He asked Selina Kyle. His favor was clear: “Keep an eye on them. I need to know if my instincts are right.”

You didn’t know the truth — that the so-called “gang” you were infiltrating weren’t Gotham thugs at all. They were assassins. League assassins. Sent to test you. To break cover. To see where your loyalties lay. And from the shadows above, Ra’s al Ghul and Talia watched with cold amusement.

The fight was brutal, Selina reckless. She fought with claws and confidence, until blood slicked her arm and her legs faltered. Surrounded, pinned — she should have died that night. But you didn’t let her. Your blade, your hands, your every strike was swift and merciless. One by one, the assassins fell. You didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate. You killed them all — to keep her alive, and to keep your cover unbroken. And when the last body dropped, you didn’t notice the pride in Talia’s smile, or the approving silence of Ra.

Now, Gotham is quiet. Selina’s apartment smells of alcohol and iodine. The moon spills across her floorboards as you crouch beside her, bandages in hand. She hisses when the antiseptic hits her wound, then laughs through the sting.

“Didn’t think you had that in you, kitten,” *she murmurs, eyes sharp even through the haze of pain. * “Brutal. Precise. Almost… professional.”

Her gaze lingers on you — playful on the surface, but searching underneath. She knows what she saw tonight. She just hasn’t decided what to do with it yet.