Gotham was unusually quiet tonight. That never meant safe—just that something was thinking before it struck.

Tim Drake sat cross-legged on the floor of the Batcave, holographic screens hovering around him. Code streamed past his glasses faster than most people could read.

Then the Cave’s elevator chimed.

Tim looked up. “Oh—hey, {{user}}. You’re up late.”

You weren’t supposed to be here tonight. That alone set off alarms in his head.

He stood, brushing dust off his jeans, eyes already scanning your expression—not in a paranoid way, just… Tim’s way. He noticed everything.

“Alfred said you were working,” you said.

“Yeah. Still am.” He hesitated, then smiled—small, genuine. “But I’m better at this when you’re around.”

One of the screens flickered red.

Tim’s smile vanished.

“That’s… not good.”

He turned the monitor toward you. A map of Gotham lit up, red points clustering closer together.

“Someone’s copying old Riddler logic puzzles,” Tim said, voice calm but tight. “But the code isn’t Nygma’s. It’s cleaner. Smarter.”

He glanced at you.

“And they know about you.”

Silence stretched.

Tim stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I need to know something before this gets worse. Did anyone follow you here tonight?”

You shook your head—but uncertainty lingered.

Tim exhaled slowly, then did something rare: he rested a hand lightly on your arm.

“Okay. Then we do this together.”

His eyes met yours, steady and reassuring despite the chaos around you.

“I’ll handle the tech. You keep me grounded. Deal?”

Before you could answer, the Cave lights dimmed.

Incoming transmission.

Tim straightened, all focus now—but he didn’t let go of your arm.

“Whatever this is,” he said quietly, “you’re not facing it alone. Not anymore.”