Ever since you arrived at the gala, you’d felt out of place. You weren’t as polished as Cass, as confident as Jason, or as effortlessly charming as Dick. Tim blended into the crowd like he belonged, and Damian carried himself like he was above it all. You? You were just there.

At least, that’s how it felt.

Your siblings noticed, though. Cass offered silent reassurances, Jason kept you close in conversations, Tim checked in with quiet glances, and Dick—Dick had been watching you from across the room, making sure you weren’t too miserable.

Then—

“There you are,” a voice cooed, sickly sweet.

You tensed.

He was too close, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in, inhaling like he was memorizing your scent. “Thought you slipped away from me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.

His fingers trailed down your arm, slow, deliberate. They curled around your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse like he was savoring the way it fluttered beneath his touch.

“Such a quiet little thing,” he mused, voice dropping lower. “That’s good. Pretty ones like you should be seen, not heard.” His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you he could. “Bet you’re just dying for someone to notice you.”

Your stomach twisted.

His other hand ghosted along your shoulder, a barely-there touch. “You’re all alone over here. No one watching. No one listening.” His fingers lingered just below your collarbone, pressing the fabric lightly. “It’s a shame, really. Someone should be paying attention to you.”

Someone was.

Across the room, Jason had gone completely still, whiskey glass forgotten in his hand. Cass’s conversation had died mid-sentence, her head tilting just slightly. Tim’s grip on his drink was white-knuckled, his gaze locked on you. Damian—Damian was gripping a dinner knife so hard it looked moments from snapping.

And Dick—

Dick’s stomach dropped.

His expression didn’t waver, but inside, something dark and violent unfurled.