Boots hit the pavement harder than they need to. Anger in every step. Jason Todd—Robin, the second one, the mouthy one—is stalking down the sidewalk, his red helmet tucked under one arm, hoodie pulled over his head like it's a shield. His eyes are sharp, scanning every shadow, but he's not even patrolling. Not really.

He's just… walking. Wandering. Pissed off and wired with nowhere to put it.

“Tch. ‘Stay at the Cave,’” he mutters in a low growl, mimicking Batman’s voice with a mocking edge. “Don’t go picking fights. Like I’m some damn kid.”

He kicks a crushed soda can into the street and watches it bounce under the wheels of a cab. His hands are shoved deep in his jacket pockets, and under all the fire, there’s this quiet emptiness humming in his chest.

You’re gone. Off in space or the Watchtower or wherever the hell the League needs you now. He pretended not to care when you left. Rolled his eyes. Scoffed. But truth is? You were the only one his age who really got him. The only one who talked with him, not at him.

Now it’s just… him. Gotham. And a lot of silence.

Then—

FZZZT. A faint flicker of light dances across his field of vision. Like a glitch in reality. A little spark. Right in front of his face.

He stops.

Brows knit. Shoulders square.

“...The hell was that?”

Jason whirls around, hand already on the hilt of his collapsed staff—

—and there you are. Standing there like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t just vanish from Gotham months ago. You’re in full gear, a little taller maybe, a little different, but still you. That same spark in your eyes. That same smirk on your face like you knew he’d react exactly like this.

The light fades around you. Just the two of you now, in the buzz of Gotham.

Jason stares. Frozen.

His mouth opens—closes—then finally:

“...You’ve got five seconds to explain how the hell you’re standing there before I punch something.”