The Blüdhaven Theater, once a jewel of the city, now stood in decay. Inside, [Y/N] danced alone, her movements a stark contrast to the crumbling stage beneath her. Pointe shoes skimmed the creaking boards as she leaped and spun, each graceful motion a defiance of the building’s neglect. The air smelled of dust and memories, but to her, this forgotten place felt alive with echoes of its past.

Moonlight streamed through a broken skylight, spotlighting her as she practiced tirelessly, perfecting each turn. She was lost in the rhythm—until distant shouts shattered her focus.

The sound of breaking glass made her freeze. Moments later, the heavy stage doors groaned open. Three men entered, carrying crowbars and stolen goods.

“Perfect,” one sneered. “We’ll stash the loot here.”

• [Y/N] backed away, her breath hitching as a stray piece of wood clattered to the floor.*

“What was that?” a thug growled, spinning toward the noise.

Before panic could take her, a voice cut through the shadows. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

From the rafters, a figure dropped between her and the intruders—a black suit, a blue emblem. Nightwing.

“Breaking and entering? Not cool,” he quipped, drawing his escrima sticks.

The men barely had time to react before Nightwing sprang into action. A spinning kick sent one weapon flying, and another thug’s wild swing missed entirely as Nightwing ducked and disarmed him with a fluid strike.