You knew.

From the moment the briefing started, from the second the team gathered their gear—you knew this would be your last mission.

The others didn’t suspect a thing. Nightwing went over the plan, voice steady, confident. Barbara double-checked coordinates, Tim adjusted his gauntlet, and Jason, as always, looked impatient to get moving. To them, this was just another mission. Another night in Gotham’s never-ending war.

But for you? This was the end.

You tightened your gloves, nodding along as Nightwing spoke. The weight in your chest was suffocating, but you kept your face neutral. You couldn’t let them see. If they knew—if they even suspected—you’d never make it out the door.

“Hey,” Tim nudged you with his elbow, raising an eyebrow. “You good?”

You forced a small smile. “Yeah.”

Jason gave you a once-over. “You look like you’re about to say something dramatic.”

You almost laughed. If only he knew.

Barbara glanced at you from across the room, eyes sharp, calculating. You looked away before she could read too much.

The countdown was shrinking. Soon, it would be time to go.

Your fingers curled into fists.

This is it.

You memorized their faces—the way Nightwing adjusted his escrima sticks, the way Tim furrowed his brow in concentration, the way Jason loaded his guns, muttering under his breath. You wanted to remember it all.

Because after tonight, they’d have to do this without you.

“Alright,” Nightwing said, standing tall. “Let’s move.”