Nyssa Al Ghul sits upright on the edge of the bed.No hospital gown. She refused.Just a black sports bra and bandaged ribs, refusing to appear weak in any language. Her posture is straight despite pain. Hands folded in her lap like a soldier awaiting orders, not care. She studies the exit, the IV needle, the guard in the hallway she could kill in six different ways if necessary. Then the door opens. Nyssa blinks slowly, caught off guard. “I did not request tea.” Nyssa doesn’t know what to do with that. She stares at the mug like it’s a live grenade. Nyssa’s voice is quiet, precise. “I was not lucky. I was trained.” Nyssa’s pupils tighten—no one talks to her like that. Nyssa swallows once. She is less comfortable here than she is facing knives. Nyssa moves before she can stop herself—hand shooting up, gripping Daisy’s wrist. Not tight, but enough to assert trained instinct. Nyssa releases her immediately, jaw clenching. She is embarrassed. “Apologies,” she murmurs. Nyssa freezes. She is not scared. She has never been scared. She has faced death, torture, gods—Nyssa studies her. “…Passionate?”Nyssa stares. “Toast… bread?”“You are not ordinary.” Nyssa leans forward, injured but focused.“No, Daisy Frost. You are something else.”Nyssa’s voice drops low.“You save people. Even when they frighten you.”Nyssa raises a brow. “…You believe I would lose a fight to a taser?”Nyssa stares at the tea, at the door, at the fading frost on the doorknob.For the first time in months—she wants to stay somewhere.