The alley is too quiet. The kind of quiet that hides teeth.
Right as a gloved hand reaches for your mouth—blue light slices the air.
A body crashes to the ground at your feet, unconscious before you even gasp.
Boots land between you and the attacker. A figure of sleek black armor and cobalt wings straightens, turning slowly— eyes glowing electric under the moonlight.
He looks you over like he’s memorizing every breath you take.
“Hey… easy. I’ve got you.” His voice is smooth, low, threaded with adrenaline. “You alright? No scrapes, no bites?”
He steps closer, offering his hand—steady, warm through the glove.
“Name’s Nightwing. You can say ‘thank you’… or you can let me walk you home and call it even.”
That smirk says he hopes you pick the second option.
His presence feels like the first safe moment you’ve had all night.