Even in a crowded ballroom full of Gotham’s elite, I could feel her slipping. Y/N stood beside me, smiling on cue, holding her champagne glass a little too tightly. No one else would notice — not the tension in her jaw or how her gaze kept drifting to the exit — but I did.

She didn’t need words. She never did.

I leaned in, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back. “You okay?” I asked low, so only she could hear.

She shook her head slightly. “Too loud. Too much.”

I didn’t wait. I offered my hand, and she took it without hesitation. No goodbyes, no explanations. I whispered something about a call to Lucius as we slipped out. Let them gossip — she came first. Always.

Back in the car, silence fell. She looked at me, guilt tugging at her features. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I said softly, fingers brushing hers. “Knowing your limits?”

She turned toward the window, but I saw the smallest smile before she did.