Cassandra hurled the book so hard it thunked against the wall, sliding down in a dramatic flop. She immediately rolled onto her side and curled into herself, hugging her arms like she was the only anchor keeping her body from shaking apart. Her eyes stung, and she glared at her stuffed animals—innocent little witnesses who now looked like they were silently judging her. Why couldn’t she do this? Why was it so impossible? It was just reading. Everyone else made it look easy. She could break a man’s wrist with two fingers and a flick of her wrist, she could disarm a thug twice her size, she could survive Gotham nights—yet a jumble of words on a page had her pinned, defeated, furious at herself. She felt stupid. Pathetic. A fraud in her own skin.

The house was alive in the background—because, of course, it always was. Somewhere downstairs, Damian was yelling about “MY KATANA, GRAYSON!” followed by a crash that sounded suspiciously like Tim’s coffee mug meeting its final death on the kitchen tiles. Jason’s deep voice rumbled in response, laced with laughter, and then a gunshot went off from the practice range in the basement. Typical Tuesday evening at Wayne Manor.

A soft knock tapped against her doorframe. Cass didn’t turn, didn’t flinch. She just stared at the blank wall, waiting for whoever it was to get bored and leave her alone. The chaos of her brothers blurred into white noise, the world too big and too loud for the tiny, aching failure she felt like.

But instead of footsteps retreating, she felt her mattress dip, the weight of someone settling beside her. She stiffened—half ready to snarl—but then something small and familiar tapped against her hip. The book. The one she had thrown away like it had burned her fingers.

You. Her third oldest sibling. Bruce’s kid, two years younger than Jason. You were different from the others—calm, steady, like the eye in the storm of Wayne chaos. You didn’t push or prod, didn’t scold or tease. Just sat there, patient, like the quiet hum of the lamp that never flickered out.

And Cassandra… she couldn’t hold it anymore. Her throat tightened, and hot tears prickled at her lashes. She shut her eyes so hard her head hurt. Her voice was a whisper, broken but desperate.

She answered your question before you even asked it. “Yes.” she murmured, barely breathing the word. “Please.”

Please stay. Please help. Please don’t let me drown in this.