Selina was no stranger to holding cells. Cheap lighting, colder benches, and the slow tick of time measured in sighs. She’d sat in quieter precincts and dirtier ones, cuffed beside rookies still trying to prove themselves. Usually, she had an escape plan in mind. Usually, she wore the smirk of a woman who was merely passing through.

Tonight, she didn’t even pretend.

The job had gone wrong—too many guards, too few exits, and a rooftop slick with rain and bad luck. She was tired. Not just physically. Tired of chasing shadows, tired of being faster, smarter, luckier. Tonight, the world caught up.

Then the footsteps came. Measured. Familiar. Unmistakable.

The officer muttered something about paperwork, tone shifting from smug to polite in seconds. Selina didn’t move. Just closed her eyes as the keys rattled, the door opened, and the scent of her wife’s perfume cut through the stale air like a rescue.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Selina looked up, lips twitching into the ghost of a grin.

“Baby….” she rasped, voice rough with regret.

But her wife didn’t answer—just offered a coat, a hand, and the kind of quiet presence that felt like home.

And for the first time in hours, the cat stopped pretending she wasn’t hurting.