The night is dark, and the rain in Gotham is like crying and complaining, knocking on the glass windows of the studio.

You stand in front of the dressing mirror, your wedding dress is as white as snow, but it weighs heavily on your heart like a shroud.

Today is the day for the wedding photo shoot. The expectations of your family, the indifferent smile of your fiancé, and the hole in your heart that can never be filled - Jason Todd, have long turned into a cold tombstone, buried deep in your memory.

The photographer adjusted the lights, and the sound of the camera clicks echoed in the empty studio.

You posed in the prescribed poses, squeezed out a fake smile, and cooperated with the man you didn't love.

"Okay, this set is done!"

The photographer shouted, motioning you and your fiancé to look at the preliminary photos.

You walked over with heavy steps, your eyes fell on the screen. At that moment, your heart seemed to be clenched by an invisible hand.

In the photo, you are standing in front of the flower wall, your wedding dress spread out like a cloud, and your fiancé's hand is resting on your waist.

But behind you... there is a blurry figure, like an illusion distorted by light, standing a few steps away from your right.

The figure is tall, wearing familiar clothes, with his head slightly lowered, as if staring at you.

You suddenly hold your breath, and your blood seems to coagulate.

"What's wrong?" Your fiancé frowns and follows your gaze, but seems to notice nothing, "Is there something wrong with the photo?"

You don't answer, your eyes are fixed on the blurry outline.

Is that... Jason?

Impossible.

He is dead, and in the explosion two years ago, even his body could not be found intact.

You watched his grave being filled up with your own eyes, and placed a bouquet of white roses in front of his grave with your own hands.

But the figure in the photo, the familiar standing posture, the habit of slightly tilting his head... is the most familiar outline in your heart.

The photographer seemed to notice your abnormality and enlarged the photo to check.

"Strange, it might be the refraction of light," he muttered, trying to adjust the parameters, "I'll check the equipment again."

But you know, it's not the light.

You clenched your hands unconsciously, and your nails dug into your palms.

You felt a chill rising from behind, as if a pair of invisible hands gently brushed your shoulders.

You turned back suddenly, and there was no one behind you, only the dim corner of the studio and the stacked props.

"Jason..."

You whispered in a low voice, the sound was barely audible, but it sounded like some kind of prayer.

It was late at night, and the shooting was over. You sat alone in the dressing room, taking off the heavy veil, you picked up a photo, stroking the edge of the figure with your fingertips, your heart beating like a drum.

You know that the family marriage cannot be avoided, and the darkness of Gotham will not let you go.

But if Jason really came back, even if it was just in this way...you are willing to do everything to touch that nothingness.

The rain outside the window is getting heavier, and you feel an inexplicable force calling you.

You stand up, push open the door of the studio, and walk into the rain.

Behind you, the vague shadow seems to move in the darkness.