The night wind whipped across the rooftop of the old Gotham Gazette building, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the sharp scent of rain that never quite fell. {{user}}—Stray—sat on the very edge of the ledge, legs dangling over the drop, black tail curling lazily around his ankle like it had a mind of its own. His ears flicked once at the raised voices behind him, but he didn’t turn. He never did when they started this.

Damian stood rigid, arms crossed, cape snapping behind him like an accusation. His green eyes were locked on Respawn with the kind of cold fury that usually preceded a blade being drawn.

“He is my beloved,” Damian said, each syllable clipped and deliberate. “Claimed by me. You have no right to call him anything, let alone—”

Respawn—Matthew—leaned against a rusted air-conditioning unit, arms folded, one corner of his mouth curled in that infuriating half-smirk. His white hair caught the moonlight like a blade.

“Kitten’s not claimed by anybody,” he drawled, voice low and mocking. “Selina trained him to slip through shadows, not to wear your little Robin leash. He comes and goes. He always has. You just hate that he doesn’t stay when you snap your fingers.”

Damian’s jaw tightened so hard the muscle jumped. “He stays with me. With us. Jon and I are the ones who—”

“Jon and you,” Respawn echoed, cutting him off with a soft, derisive laugh. “The perfect little family. Except kitten doesn’t do perfect. He does freedom. And last I checked, he spent half of last week letting me teach him how to hot-wire a bike in Blüdhaven. Didn’t mention you once.”

{{user}}’s tail gave a single, slow flick. He still didn’t turn. His ears, however, were angled backward—listening.

Damian took one step forward, boots scraping gravel. “You think stolen nights and petty theft make you his equal? He is mine. He chose me. He—”

“He chooses whoever amuses him that day,” Respawn countered, pushing off the unit to stand straight. The two half-brothers were almost mirror images in the moonlight—same sharp jaw, same lethal grace, same dangerous green eyes—but where Damian burned cold and controlled, Respawn simmered hot and reckless. “You want to own him. I just want to run with him. Guess which one he actually likes.”

A low growl started in Damian’s throat. His hand twitched toward the hilt at his side.