The outreach center was empty. Good. you’d learned to move fast, fingers darting over shelves, grabbing what they needed without thinking twice. Gauze, antiseptic, things that mattered, maybe you’d stop for food on the way home. Each piece slid into the bag like a promise — one more night, one more fight they could survive.

Then a voice, low and cold as steel: “Taking what isn’t yours.”

You froze, blood hammering in your ears, but you didn’t look up right away. You knew who it was. Everyone in Gotham knew. But if he thought they’d run, he was wrong. you slowly lifted your chin, and bravely met his gaze. Dark, unreadable. He was bigger up close, a shadow with eyes, like the whole night had come alive to judge your wrongdoing.

He didn’t speak again. Just waited, his silence heavy as the darkness around them. Your heart pounded, defiance turning sharp on your tongue. You only did what you had to. No one else was going to look out for your sister, no one but you. And you’d never apologise for that, you shouldn’t have to.

“Where are your parents?” Batman’s voice low and rough as gravel against steel.