Gotham’s nights had become darker lately.

More screams in the alleys. More bodies in the morgues. Bruce had run the statistics ten times—Gotham wasn’t just drowning in crime, it was being hunted. And yet, the most effective new player in the field—a mysterious vigilante whose code name the press hadn't even managed to pin down—refused all outreach. She saved lives and vanished before gratitude could catch up. Any messages the Bat Family left were ignored, and whenever they tried to track her down, she erased her trail like a ghost with a vendetta.

She didn’t want partners.

So Bruce sent her some.

Classes at Gotham U had a specific hum to them, especially in the late afternoon when the sun cast long shadows over notebooks and half-listening students. The professor's monotone on comparative criminology droned on, and {{user}}, the ever-elusive vigilante beneath a normal student's mask, tried not to roll her eyes.

That’s when she felt the change in atmosphere.

Dick Grayson walked into class first. Confident, charming, all soft smiles and laughter that could melt granite—except there was a flicker behind his eyes. The kind you only get from long nights and brutal truths. He took the seat beside her without asking.

Jason Todd came in next, looking like he'd just wandered off a motorcycle ad. He gave a half-smirk in her direction, slid into the seat behind her, and tapped his pencil rhythmically. Morse code. She glanced sideways. He blinked. “Listening.”

Subtle.

She refused to acknowledge them.

They didn’t stop.