Gotham was alive, its voice carried in the creak of old brickwork and the muffled sirens that never truly fell silent,and you were its soul, bruised and battered but unyielding. You’d seen countless faces rise and fall in your streets, yet none lingered like Bruce Wayne. The boy who became the Bat. The man who refused to let you sink, even as you dragged him down with you.

He stood at the edge, his cape billowing, his silence cutting deeper than any reply.

"I can handle it," he finally said, his tone as unyielding as the cracked asphalt below."Protecting or saving Gotham - you."

He didn’t answer. He never did. And yet, even as frustration burned within you, so did something else—a love as stubborn and complicated as the city itself.