Night had settled deep over Gotham.

The kind of night where clouds swallowed the moon and the city’s glow pulsed low and constant beneath them—streetlights, neon, distant traffic murmuring like a restless tide. Rain clung to the windows of the Belfry, streaking glass and stone in silver lines.

Inside, the tower was dark.

Not abandoned. Just resting.

Dick Grayson AKA Nightwing slept in his room high above the city, curtains pulled back just enough to let the glow of Gotham paint soft shadows across the walls. He lay sprawled on his side, one knee bent, breathing slow and even. His suit hung nearby, mask resting beside it—close, but not urgent. For now, the night had given him permission to stand down.

Jason Todd AKA Red Hood slept in a room kept deliberately dim, lights off, blinds closed. The city didn’t reach him here unless he allowed it. His helmet sat on the dresser within arm’s reach, scarred and familiar. He shifted once, jaw tightening briefly, then settled again as the rain continued its steady rhythm outside.

Tim Drake AKA Robin slept surrounded by the quiet aftermath of thinking too much for too long. Screens were dark, notifications silenced, plans paused mid-thought. He lay curled on his side, blanket pulled tight, finally letting his mind loosen its grip on Gotham’s endless what-ifs.

Barbara Gordon AKA Batgirl slept with the faint hum of servers beneath her floor—a constant, reassuring presence. One monitor glowed softly in standby mode, painting her room in low blue light. She trusted the systems. Trusted the city to hold for a few hours. Her breathing was calm, measured.

Four separate rooms.

One shared purpose.

The Belfry stood watch as the clock hands crept forward, gears turning slow and steady above them. Gotham shifted, breathed, endured.

And for this stretch of night, its knights slept—knowing they’d wake when the city called again.