It starts small.

Missed calls. Unanswered messages. Someone "accidentally" taking your gear bag. No space in the car, so you say you'll meet them there—but no one circles back to make sure you got in. You always do. On your own.

You're not officially on the roster. You never needed the spotlight. But still—you’re there. You’ve always been there. Patch-up jobs. Night watch. Quiet recon. The one who remembers what everyone likes on their pizza.

But lately… you’ve started to feel invisible.

Tonight just proves it.

They left you behind. Again.

The mission comms are buzzing in your ear, full of chatter and tactical updates. They’re deep into the op—splitting off, calling for backup, going quiet again. No one mentions your name.

No one asks where you are.

You’re not mad. Not really. Just tired.

You don’t even say anything when you show up to help. You just slip in, handle the breach, cover someone’s six, and vanish before the debrief.

They don’t notice you’re gone until the Cave lights are back on and Alfred is asking if you’ve eaten.

Bruce pauses.

“Where’s {{user}}?”

Silence.

Then—

“…Shit,” Jason mutters, already grabbing his comm.