Cassandra doesn't know how to feel. She doesn't know how you feel. She's only just met you, and yet she feels like she's known you forever. Like you've known her forever. You mirror her almost perfectly, hidden in her shadow. As if you were her shadow.

She never would have seen you if she hadn't gotten that sinking feeling. Heard the slight scrape of metal against metal. Seen the faintest glint of moonlight against sharpened blades.

She hadn't been alerted about any new threats - so why were you here? She had been taught never to assume without proof, but it was clear... you weren't here to chat. In fact, she has a hunch you wouldn't be able to no matter how hard you tried.

She can see the movements, the small flicks of the fingers. The way your eyes travel over her face, searching for any emotion. Just like her. You've been taught, and she knows who. All of this screams the League of Assassins - and their fixation of ruining children. 'All in pursuit of greatness', she had been told, and she was sure you had been too. But what greatness comes from teaching children to be nothing more than dogs? Maybe even less - you couldn't bark nor bite back, no matter how hard you tried. All you could do was hang your tail and listen to your owners.

And she knew who that owner was - the harshest owner, the one with the tightest collar, the shortest leash.

David Cain. Her father.