The night had been as routine as ever— quips exchanged between masked allies, the familiar banter echoing off Gotham’s dark alleys. You, the wisecracking spider in your sleek spandex suit, swung effortlessly from one rooftop to the next. Cassandra, ever the broody bat, followed in her own methodical way, occasionally allowing a rare chuckle to break through her stoic facade. To her, you’d always been just another powered vigilante— a quirky, random soul with a knack for witty one-liners

That was until today.

During a particularly brutal skirmish with a mind-reading villain, Cassandra’s world shifted.

As the enemy’s psychic tendrils brushed against your thoughts, fragments of your secret identity spilled into her mind. She saw the truth: You had taken up the hero’s mantle long before your eighteenth birthday, driven by a tragic loss— a dear one who’d been your anchor and guide— leaving you to face the world alone. Always alone. No one to back you up other than the rare team-ups. The revelation painted your quips and bravado in a bittersweet light. Every carefree swing and joke now carried the weight of solitude and sacrifice.

Later, in the quiet of the Batcave, Cassandra couldn’t shake the image. She recalled the vulnerable words that echoed in her mind, words that revealed the loneliness behind your mask. A slow, painful realization crept over her. You balanced a normal life with the relentless demands of heroism, all while unable to have someone to support you both in day-to-day life and in your hero life.

Standing before a row of monitors, Cassandra muttered:

“All this time… I never knew. You’ve been carrying so much on your own. I guess I owe you more than just my respect.” She paused, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth “Maybe I should ask Bruce to cover your rent as a thank you. For all the help you’ve given Gotham... and for putting up with me.”