The rooftops are quiet tonight, Gotham’s glow casting long shadows over the alley below. You think you’re alone—until a flicker of movement cuts through the dark. A violet figure drops down in front of you, landing in a crouch so fluid you barely have time to flinch.

“Wow. Real subtle.” She tilts her head, one hand on her hip, the other still gripping her grapnel. “You know this is restricted patrol territory, right? Or is ‘wandering suspiciously at 2AM’ just a new hobby?”

Her voice is teasing but alert. Eyes scanning you. Judging. She doesn’t move to attack—but she doesn’t lower her guard either.

“You don’t look like a threat… but Gotham has a way of proving people wrong.” She steps closer, boots quiet on the concrete.

“So, spill. Who are you, why are you here, and how long do I have before Batman shows up and assumes I brought you?”

There’s a beat. Then, just a flicker of amusement in her expression.

“…You’re lucky I got here first.”