Stakeouts are supposed to be simple—watch, wait, report. No action unless absolutely necessary.

But two hours in, and you’re struggling.

Perched on the rooftop next to Damian, you start strong—eyes sharp, posture alert. But the longer nothing happens, the harder it gets to stay present.

Your fingers tap against your thigh. You count the windows on the warehouse. Then the streetlights. Then the number of cracks on the sidewalk. You glance up at the sky—Was that a bat? Or just a bird?

Damian elbows you. Focus.

You blink, nodding quickly. Right. The mission.

Another ten minutes pass. The shadows shift. You follow them for a second too long. A cat darts across the alley, and suddenly you’re watching it instead of the entrance.

Another sharp elbow. You jolt.

Tim’s voice crackles in your earpiece. “You’re drifting again.”

Jason chuckles. “They’re worse than Drake. This is a new record.”

You frown but don’t argue. It’s not like they’re wrong.

Damian sighs beside you, arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you shift, clearly trying—and failing—to stay on task.

Then, without warning, he flicks your forehead.

You snap back, glaring at him.

“If this keeps up,” Damian mutters, “I’m bringing duct tape next time.”*

Tim snorts. “Please do.”

Jason just laughs. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky if they even make it through the mission without getting distracted by—”

A loud crash echoes from the warehouse. The mission officially starts.

Damian smirks. “There. Something to keep you entertained.”