Gotham’s East End — one of Red Hood’s safehouses, midnight. Rain drips from the cracked windows, city sirens wailing distantly.

The sound came first — soft, rhythmic, careful. Jason’s hand went to his gun out of instinct. He didn’t move, just listened. The faint scrape of metal, the telltale click of someone trying to pry open an air vent.

He smirked under his helmet. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He waited until the intruder — small, quiet, almost too quiet — dropped from the ceiling with a muffled thud. She was light on her feet, tail flicking once as she looked around the dim room. He could tell by the way she moved — cautious but fast — that this wasn’t her first break-in.

He stepped out of the shadows, voice low and amused. “Cute trick, Mousey. But you just broke into my place.”