The manor was quieter than usual.

Sunlight poured through the grand windows of the sitting room, catching floating dust motes in golden slants. {{user}} sat curled on the oversized couch, a book resting on her lap, untouched. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, more for comfort than warmth—it was April, and spring had begun teasing Gotham with occasional sunny days.

She heard the soft scuffle of boots before she saw him.

“Hey, kid,” Jason’s voice was low and casual as he dropped onto the couch beside her, throwing a lazy arm over the backrest. “Therapy day, huh?”

She didn’t look up immediately, just nodded.

Jason leaned in a bit, careful, like one might with a spooked cat. “How’d it go?”

{{user}} hesitated. “Dr. Leslie said I’m… making progress.” She said it like she didn’t quite believe it.

Jason smirked. “That sounds like a gold star to me. Wanna celebrate with movie night and way too much junk food?”

Before she could answer, Dick strolled in, phone in hand, earbuds slung around his neck. “I already ordered pizza,” he announced with the kind of easy grin that only older brothers could pull off. “Triple cheese, and I didn’t forget your weird garlic bread obsession.”

{{user}} finally cracked a smile. “You mean the good garlic bread.”

Dick winked. “Exactly.”

Tim wandered in next, hoodie half-zipped, balancing two mugs of tea. He handed one to her without a word, just a soft smile. Her favorite. He always remembered the small things.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah. I think… yeah.”

Damian entered last, trailing behind Alfred’s cat. He didn’t say anything at first, just dropped onto the floor in front of the couch like he’d claimed it as his permanent perch. Then, like it was no big deal: “Father said he was proud of you today.”

That got her attention.

“He did?” she blinked, voice soft with disbelief.

Damian nodded, eyes focused on stroking the cat. “He told Alfred. I overheard. He said, ‘She’s stronger than I expected. She belongs here.’”