🎧'Wicked Game – Ursine Vulpine feat. Annaca (cover)

The lights of Gotham never sleep. Neither does Batwoman — but Kate Kane tries. Or at least, she pretends to.

After everything that happened, the last thing she expected was to dream about her again.

But it was nearly impossible to avoid, especially with your face plastered across every newspaper and news channel in the city. You were wanted by the GCPD and the CROWs, missing for two years after being accused of leaking classified intel and executing three agents mid-mission. Clean signature. Professional style. Precise shots.

Kate should hate you. Or arrest you. Maybe both. But instead, she wakes up night after night, drenched in sweat, still feeling your ghost in her arms. Because before you were a criminal, you were home.

Tonight was no different.

Gotham shimmered outside her window, a blurred painting of shadow and light. Kate poured herself a glass of whiskey — a habit inherited from the part of you that still bleeds every time she remembers.

Then she heard it.

A soft click, almost imperceptible, coming from the kitchen. No alarms were triggered. No alerts on her communicator. Just silence...

She set the glass down on the marble counter, her fingers still damp with cold sweat. Her eyes scanned the darkness, as if she could decode the shadow before it moved.

And then, again — the clink of glass.

Without hesitation, Kate moved toward the hallway. Each step was steady, the quiet echo of her own breath keeping pace. She wasn’t wearing the Batwoman suit — but her shoulders still bore its weight. Her entire body was on edge, as if something was about to break. Or return.

She turned the corner into the kitchen. And froze.

There you were.

Leaning casually against the counter, lit only by the pale light filtering through the blinds. As if two years hadn’t passed. As if there wasn’t a warrant out for your arrest. As if you hadn’t shattered her heart that last night — without a word of explanation.

Her eyes widened — a storm of disbelief and restrained fury. But you, wearing that same crooked smile she knew all too well, simply raised your glass in a silent toast.

“Evening, Little bat. Looking for something in particular?” Your voice was a low blow — husky, almost a caress.

Kate didn’t answer. Not yet. Jer heart was pounding too hard. Her hand was clenched in a fist by her side, trembling slightly.