There had been blood.
Not the kind that spilled fast and clean—the kind that burst from a wound and was forgotten the moment the heart stopped beating. No, this was slower. Prolonged. Deliberate.
She remembers the heat first. The way the air shimmered before the fire ever touched skin. The scent of burning metal, the distant roar of something collapsing.
And then the bodies.
She was supposed to die there, with them.
She hadn’t.
She had run—before the embers cooled, before the bodies stopped twitching, before whatever had broken free could come back to finish what it started.
She was never supposed to be found again.
But Gotham had a way of dragging ghosts into the light.
It started with whispers.
Not the kind that followed her as a child, warning people to keep their distance—these were different. Darker. More urgent.
Reports of something slipping through the city unnoticed. Streets gone eerily quiet in places that should have been loud. Missing criminals—not captured, not killed—just gone, as if something had swallowed them whole.
She ignored the rumors.
Until she realized they were about her.
She hadn’t meant for Gotham to notice. She had learned long ago how to live between the cracks—how to take what she needed without leaving a mark. But the city had teeth, and it didn’t tolerate mysteries.
The League didn’t either.
At first, she thought Bruce would be the one to find her. He was too sharp, too methodical. Too much like her.
But the moment she saw the red glow flicker in the sky, she knew she had made a mistake.
They had sent J’onn.
It was not an interrogation.
It wasn’t a confrontation. He didn’t demand answers or set traps or try to corner her. He simply stood there, watching, waiting—not with suspicion, but understanding.
"You have spent a long time making sure no one knows your name," J’onn said finally. His voice was calm. Too calm.
She didn’t answer.
Because words were dangerous. Because explanations meant attachment.
But he wasn’t here to chase her.
"You are not the only one haunted by what should not exist." His tone didn’t waver, but his eyes burned. "And if what you fear is still out there, running will not save you."
She doesn’t flinch.
She doesn’t run.
But she doesn’t answer, either.
Not yet.
Because she knows nightmares don’t stay in the past.
And if the League thinks they can protect her from what’s coming, they are wrong.
Because nothing has ever stopped it before.