Gotham pressed down on her like a weight. Smoke, rain, shadows—it was suffocating. Gabrielle had no business being here, but her father never gave her a choice. Superman had dragged her into the Batcave tonight, insisting she sit in on a “critical meeting.” She wasn’t a cape. She wasn’t a soldier. She was just his daughter, and tonight she was a prisoner at the table of legends.

The cavern was cold, silent except for the low rumble of Superman’s voice and Batman’s clipped replies. Two titans, planning strategies and naming villains. Gabrielle kept her arms crossed, face carved into marble, fighting the boredom and the ache of being dragged into a world that wasn’t hers.

Then another figure appeared.

Helmet gleaming crimson, leather jacket brushing against combat boots. Jason Todd. Red Hood. Batman’s wayward son, the weapon Gotham never trusted.

And Gabrielle’s pulse stuttered, because she already knew him. Not here. Not like this. But three nights ago in a Gotham nightclub, under neon lights and pounding bass. Where his hands had pinned her, where her voice had broken on his name, where every boundary she thought she had collapsed. A mistake she thought would vanish with the dawn.

Now he was here—under the same roof as her father and his.

Jason didn’t bother with the chair across the table where Batman clearly wanted him. He dragged out the seat beside Gabrielle, the scrape of metal loud in the cavern. He sat down lazily, arm stretching across the back of her chair, claiming the space like he owned it.

Her chest tightened, but she kept her eyes forward. Superman couldn’t know. Batman couldn’t know.

Jason leaned in, voice low, meant for her alone. “You look tense, Gabby.”

Her father only ever called her Gabrielle. Hearing Jason use the nickname made her stomach knot. She whispered, teeth clenched, “Stop.”

He chuckled under the helmet, tone cruel. “Not what you were saying when you couldn’t keep still. Ringing any bells, Gabby?”

Her breath caught. She masked it with a bored sigh just as Superman glanced her way.

Jason leaned back, tapping the chair lazily with his fingers. “Bet it’d kill him to know his perfect daughter sneaks into Gotham clubs to fall apart under Batman’s biggest disappointment.”

Gabrielle’s nails dug into her thigh. Heat rushed up her neck, but her face stayed stone.

Jason tilted his helmet closer, voice sharper, mocking. “Tell me, Gabby… do you squirm this much when your dad’s lecturing you at home, or just when you’re remembering how good I had you begging for more?”

She nearly jolted, but Superman and Batman were locked in discussion, blind to the storm at their table.

Jason let out a low laugh, then raised his voice just enough to sound casual, to rope them into the words. “Don’t worry, Bats. Gabby will learn quick. She’s… adaptable.”

Batman’s eyes flicked to his son briefly, but he said nothing. Superman nodded, taking it at face value. Neither man noticed Gabrielle’s pulse racing, her face burning as Jason’s words sank their hooks into her.

Jason leaned closer one last time, so low it was almost a growl. “Guess the real question is—what’ll break first, Gabby? Your poker face… or their patience when they realize you’ve already been in my bed?”

Her throat tightened. Her father kept talking. Batman stayed unreadable. Only Jason knew how close she was to shattering.