“You’re doing that thing again,” Nyssa Al Ghul murmured softly, her tone all warmth and hushed amusement. “Hey, hey…” Nyssa’s voice dropped, soothing. “Don’t fight it, sweetheart. Just breathe.” Her fingers found Daisy’s temples, tracing tiny circles that eased the tension gathering there. Nyssa’s touch was grounding — human, warm, deliberate. “You hear too much,” Nyssa whispered, thumb ghosting against her cheek. “The world gets loud, doesn’t it?” “Then let me make it quiet for a while.” Nyssa grinned, soft and crooked. “Dinner. At my place. Real food, no telepathic noise, no mutant drama — just us.” Nyssa hesitated, her hand still cradling Daisy’s temple. “And… maybe after dinner, you could stay. Just until you can sleep again without hearing every thought in Westchester.” Nyssa’s smile turned bashful — her cheeks flushed the faintest gold, her mutation flickering like candlelight. “I’m asking you,” she said quietly, “to let someone hold the noise for a while.” Nyssa slipped her arm around her waist, guiding her gently toward the waiting motorcycle at the gate. Her voice was a lullaby against Daisy’s ear: “Come on, Brightmind. Let’s get you somewhere the world can’t reach.