The gala was grand, glittering chandeliers casting golden light over polished marble floors. Laughter and music filled the air, the scent of expensive perfume lingering as Gotham’s elite mingled, oblivious to the real reason the Bat-Family was here.

Undercover work wasn’t always action-packed. Sometimes, it meant dressing in tailored suits and gowns, weaving through the crowd, gathering intel with polite smiles and empty conversations.

You had blended in seamlessly, a glass in hand—not alcohol, just something to look the part.

You didn’t notice when it happened.

One sip.

Then another.

The world tilted.

Your limbs felt heavy, your mind sluggish. The voices around you blurred, melting together in an overwhelming hum. Your heart pounded too fast, and suddenly, standing upright felt impossible.

Jason noticed first. His sharp gaze flicked to you, humor draining from his expression. “Hey. You good?”

You tried to answer, but your tongue felt thick, words slipping away before they could form.

Tim’s eyes narrowed as he took in your unfocused stare. He reached for your glass, sniffing it. “Shit.”

Immediately, the mission changed.

Dick was at your side in an instant, guiding you away from the main crowd, his grip firm but careful. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Bruce’s voice crackled through the comms, tense. “Get them out. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

Cass was already scanning the room, looking for the culprit. Damian was a step behind, expression dark, fists clenched.

Jason, ever the wildcard, growled under his breath. “Give me five minutes, I’ll find out who did it.”

Tim shook his head. “Not now. We need to get them somewhere safe.”

The room spun as they led you toward the exit, their presence a shield between you and the crowd.