Jason lingered above. His narrowed eyes scanned the crime scene below—a body sprawled against the bricks, blood pooled around him. The cops were murmuring, chalking the death up to another random act of Gotham’s madness. But Jason knew better. The Joker’s fingerprints were all over this.

And then, he saw you.

You were tucked away in the farthest corner of the alley, just outside police activity. You scribbled something down, occasionally glancing toward the scene. Jason had seen you do this before—detached from the bureaucracy, too focused to be just another cop.

He dropped silently behind you, his boots making a faint crunch on the gravel. You stiffened but didn’t turn, your pen hovering mid-note.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was low, just above a whisper.

“And you should?” you replied, keeping your voice equally quiet.

Jason smirked beneath his mask. He’d give you credit—you didn’t scare easy. This wasn’t the first time you’d crossed paths since the killings started. You’d been at the edges of every scene, dissecting every lead.

“Got anything useful, or are you just making the cops look bad?” he asked.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your eyes sharp. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Touché. He leaned against the wall, keeping his voice low. “Joker’s got someone working for him. You’re chasing a ghost, Detective.”

You didn’t answer right away, flipping through your notebook. Jason tilted his head, catching a glimpse of your notes.

“I can’t keep running interference,” he muttered, his voice tight. “If the cops catch me talking to you, you’re screwed. And so am I.”

You tucked the notebook away. “Then stop showing up.”

Jason barked out a quiet laugh, humorless. “Yeah, not gonna happen. If you’re walking into Joker’s crosshairs, someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

The distant chatter of cops grew louder, a flashlight sweeping dangerously close. Jason straightened. “Stay out of trouble,” he said before melting back into the shadows.