The night patrol had gone completely off script. It was supposed to be a simple sweep—check the docks, stop whatever Slade’s latest batch of followers was planning, and go home before sunrise. But of course, nothing was ever that simple in Blüdhaven.

He hadn’t expected her.

The girl couldn’t have been older than fourteen, maybe thirteen if you looked past the hard stare she tried to hold. Too small for the armor she wore, too shaky with the gun she aimed at him. The symbol of Slade painted on her shoulder looked too big for her frame, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

—“Put it down,” Dick said, lowering his own weapon. His voice stayed calm, careful. He’d seen this before—kids pulled into someone else’s war, molded into something they were never meant to be.

—“You don’t want to do this.”

It only took one move—one quick sweep—and the gun was out of her hand, skidding across the floor. She tried to fight back, throwing a surprisingly well-aimed punch, but he caught her wrist easily, turning her momentum against her. She landed on her knees, breathing hard, glaring up at him.