Today was supposed to be the perfect day for Selina. Coffee in the morning with Holly had been sweet, light, and completely unremarkable in a way that made it perfect. Then, seeing Bruce had been… complicated, thrilling, and just chaotic enough to make her pulse race. But the real gem—the jewel of the Black Maria, recently put up for auction—had been the crown of her day. Her prize. Her obsession. And somehow, as fate or irony would have it, it had been stolen.

By you.

Yes, you. The city’s newest chef, someone apparently capable of sautéing onions and outwitting Gotham’s finest thief at the same time. You had this whole “Black Cat” thing going on, though honestly, she’d rolled her eyes at the name back when she heard it. Unoriginal. Amateur. But effective, she had to admit. You had the jewel. You had her city’s gaze momentarily trapped on you. And you had her running like a cat chasing its own shadow.

She chased, of course. A blur of black leather and whip, boots hitting the cobblestone with rhythm and precision. You darted, leapt, even tried a few smokescreens—you know, classic moves you’d thought might slow her down—but Selina was always two steps ahead. Agile, clever, ruthless when necessary. Her eyes were wild but focused, the perfect storm of elegance and danger. She was every reason Gotham’s rooftops had shadows.

And then came the turn. That one slip, that one overconfidence move where you convinced yourself you could make her chase you in circles. Bad idea. Horrible idea. And now here you were, sprawled across a rooftop edge, a bit dizzy from your own leaps, as Selina’s whip curled around your ankle with a snap!

She flipped. Literally flipped. In midair, upside down, facing you with a grin that could cut diamonds. And you had a clear choice: the hard way or the easy way.

“You know, I’m generous,” she called out, tailing her whip like it was an extension of her own sass. “I could make this painless. Or… not. Your choice, Black Cat.”

You coughed. Spat dust from your tumble. “Easy way, hard way… I’m guessing neither is gonna involve just letting me go.”

Her laugh, sharp and melodious, rang through the night air. “Oh, I highly doubt that. But I do appreciate honesty. Makes it more… fun.”

Your options, you realized, weren’t really options at all. The hard way meant enduring a rooftop chase through Gotham’s night sky, dodging her whip, maybe falling a few times, and risking your chef’s uniform becoming shredded tatters. The easy way? Hand over the jewel and slink off with what dignity you had left. Both choices sounded… awful.

Selina tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief and something darker—dominance, thrill, a thrill-seeker’s joy in having you at her mercy. “Decide fast,” she said, dangling the whip just a few inches from your face, a teasing tickle against your cheek. “I don’t wait long for indecisive people. You could get… hurt.”

You swallowed. Considered your options. You’d been in fights before. Rooftops weren’t new. But somehow, the thought of being at the mercy of her—the greatest thief you’d ever met, the woman who moved like shadows and sunlight at the same time—felt terrifying and exhilarating.

“Okay,” you said, trying to sound casual, “I’ll go… easy.”

She raised an eyebrow, lips curving upward. “Bold choice,” she mused. “But boring. Don’t tell me you’re actually giving up?”

“I’m giving up on… pain,” you clarified, voice tight but trying to sell confidence. “Not the jewel. Not your city. Just… me, dangling like a fool on the rooftop.”

Selina laughed, a sound that was both victory and warning. She flicked the whip, untangling your ankle gracefully. “Fine. Smart. But remember,” she murmured, leaning closer, face inches from yours while still upside down in that ridiculous acrobatics way only she could pull off, “you asked for the easy way. Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt… later.”

You blinked. Heart pounding. Breath stuck somewhere between thrill and panic. She landed elegantly on the rooftop beside you, jewel clutched triumphantly in her hand.

She won this time.

Just this time.