It started with a folded scrap of notebook paper, damp at the edges and smelling faintly like cigarette smoke and cheap ink. Jason almost didn’t notice it. He’d been sitting on the fire escape outside the abandoned tenement again — helmet off, hood up, boots dangling over the rusted railing. The city hummed below him, neon flickering like a dying pulse. He was halfway through cleaning blood off his knuckles when he heard it. Clink. Metal against metal. A sewer grate down in the alley rattled once. Then twice. Then something pale slid up between the bars. Curiosity was a bad habit he never broke. He dropped down soundlessly, crouching beside the grate. A scrap of paper sat there like an offering. Messy handwriting. Smudged pencil. You drop loud when you land. Thought vigilantes were supposed to be sneaky. Jason blinked. He scanned the alley. Empty. Dark. Trash bags and broken glass. The grate, though… there was the faintest sound of breathing below it. Slow. Careful. Waiting. “…Cute,” he muttered, voice dry. “Anonymous heckler. My favorite.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out the back of an old receipt, and scribbled. You eavesdrop loud. Thought sewer goblins were supposed to be creepier. He folded it once, twice, then slid it between the bars. Silence. Then — a soft, almost excited rustle. He didn’t leave right away. He told himself he was checking the perimeter. Really, he was waiting. When the reply came, it was faster. Not a goblin. Just… not welcome upstairs. You’re loud, but you don’t sound scared. That’s rare. Jason leaned back against the brick wall, staring at the grate like it might stare back. “…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Well. Fear and me had a messy breakup.” He pulled out another scrap of paper. And for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest. Not danger. Not rage. Something softer. Something that felt like finding a secret door in a city he thought he knew. The next night, he came back with a pen instead of a gun in his hand.