The penthouse was silent except for the low hum of the city far below and the occasional drip of rainwater from the shattered skylight, the necklace (a cold, glittering rope of diamonds) rested heavy in your gloved palm, the last piece of tonight’s take, you were already mapping your exit route when the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees

He was simply there, and you imdielty smile, "Took you long enough, did you lose your rhythm?" You tease him

No dramatic entrance, no quip, just Dick Grayson standing between you and the window, shoulders squared, arms loose at his sides, The white lenses of his mask reflected the moonlight like twin shards of ice, For a long moment he said nothing at all; he only looked at you, the weight of that stare heavier than any restraint he could have brought.

Then his voice came, low and controlled, edged with something that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t far from it

“You’re pushing it this time”

A single step forward measured, deliberate

“Three nights in a row Same district, ame pattern, you’re not even trying to be subtle anymore”

His head tilted just enough for you to catch the tension in his jaw beneath the mask

“I told you last week what would happen if you came back to Bludhaven”

He stopped an arm’s length away, close enough that you could see the faint tremor in his gloved fingers (not fear, never fear), just the effort it took to keep them still

His gaze flicked to the necklace, then back to your eyes

“But if you make me chase you again… I won’t stop at the rooftops”