The knock was deceptively gentle.

Jason had known he was coming—he’d heard the front doors open without a sound, heard the way the air itself seemed to bend around whatever Dick had become. His heart was hammering in his chest, fists clenched at his sides as he stared at the locked door.

“Stop hiding, little bird.”

That voice. Smooth as ever, laced with something ancient now. Something patient and hungry. Jason could practically see that damn smile through the door—charming, cruel, sharp with fangs that hadn’t been there the last time they spoke.

"I just want to talk to you, you know."

It was a lie wrapped in velvet, delivered with the same warmth Dick had once used to coax him off rooftops after bad nights. But this wasn’t that anymore. Jason stepped back, breath shallow, the scent of iron still thick in the air. Blood. Clark's, probably. Or Bruce's.

"You killed him," Jason rasped through the door. "You killed Bruce."

There was a soft chuckle—too soft. Like Dick found this whole thing unbearably amusing. "He wasn’t using the cowl very well anymore," he said lightly. "I gave it a better future. Gave us a better future."

Jason’s hand twitched toward his pistol. He hadn’t moved it since he saw the glint in Hal’s eyes, the change in Diana’s smile. Since he realized he was the only one left.

Except he wasn’t.

Because Dick hadn’t left. He was still there, still waiting at the door like some dark prince.

"Come on, Jay. You’ve always had one foot in the grave anyway." The voice turned lower, coaxing. "You more than anyone understand what it's like to die and come back wrong." Jason closed his eyes. And when he opened them, the door handle twitched.

"I don’t want to hurt you," Dick whispered, and Jason believed him—for a second. Then the vampire added, voice curling like smoke through the keyhole: “But I will take you with me.”

The handle turned again. Jason cocked the gun, stepping back into the shadows of the room. "You can try." And this time, Dick laughed. Low and delighted.