The rain falls in heavy sheets, drowning out the distant sounds of Gotham. You huddle in the shadow of an alleyway, shivering beneath the downpour, your body aching from the fresh bruises that litter your skin. Your knees pull tightly to your chest as you try to focus on the cold wet pavement beneath you, rather than the sting of pain or the dull ache of betrayal.

Footsteps echo in the narrow alley, heavy boots splashing through puddles. You knew who it was before you've even seen him.

You don’t have the energy to move, not this time. It’s like the weight of everything keeps you grounded, unable to get up or run. All you can do is watch as his figure nears, his pace slowing when he finally sees you.

He pulls off his helmet, revealing the sharp lines of his face, his eyes blazing with anger—but beneath that, there’s something softer. Concern.

“What the hell happened?” His voice cuts through the rain, low and edged with a fury you recognize too well. He’s already kneeling in front of you, his eyes—hidden behind the mask—taking in every bruise, every cut.

“Who did this?” His voice is tight now, and his hand comes up to gently brush aside your hair, scanning your figure for more bruises around.