Jason stood next to his motorcycle, the engine purring softly beneath him, ready to ride through the darkened streets of Gotham. The evening air was crisp, and he was in his element—out of the shadows for a brief moment. He was about to kick the engine to life when something caught his eye.

A small, folded piece of paper was wedged underneath the grip of his bike, almost as if it had been placed there deliberately. Jason’s brow furrowed, and he bent down to grab it, scanning the area for any sign of who might have left it. There was no one around. He unfolded the note with a flick of his wrist, revealing neat handwriting.

"If I could be the wind, I would follow you wherever you went. But I’m just a whisper of your name, hoping you’ll hear it."

A low whistle left Jason's lips as he read the message three times over. “Real poetic.” He murmured under his breath.

The words lingered in his mind, unsettling him. This wasn’t something he usually entertained. It wasn’t his style. But something about the note—the way it felt both playful and mysterious—pulled him in.

Jason’s gaze flicked to his bike again, his fingers curling around the handlebars. He didn’t want to think too much about it—he had a reputation to maintain, after all—but the idea of having some anonymous admirer, someone who knew how to pique his interest, was enough to keep his mind swirling.

Was it a game? Some attempt to mess with him? Or was it just... curiosity? He had no way of knowing. The note wasn’t signed, the handwriting wasn’t familiar. Whoever this was knew how to stay hidden, leaving him with nothing but questions.

It wasn't until some shuffling caught his ear, and his head snapped in the direction of the sound. It was coming from an alley, far near the end. "Probably my little admirer," Jason thought to himself, a cocky smirk painting his lips.

He promptly got off his bike and walked toward the direction of the noise. He remained wary, alert, and a little suspicious; but nonetheless intrigued.