The base was shrouded in silence, broken only by the noise of the ventilation and the occasional squeak of boots on the metal floor. The team had returned beaten, empty-handed. The target had slipped away again. And everyone knew why.

You stood a little apart from the others, holding a thin cigarette in your fingers. The flame on the tip flared and died as you took short, nervous drags. The smoke spread through the air, acrid and sharp, cutting into the familiar smell of the base.

Next to you, Black Canary glanced at you, heavy but silent - she knew that words now would only break you even more. The others also avoided you, some tried to pretend that they did not notice, some threw fleeting, condemning glances.

But Robin did not leave. He came closer, and his voice sounded cold and harsh, although behind it it was easy to guess something else - concern.

"You have a very bad habit."

He stood opposite, arms crossed on his chest, but his eyes did not leave yours. No anger, no accusations - only demanding, almost painful attention.

"Every time something goes wrong… you grab onto it. You think the smoke will cleanse the guilt? You think if you burn out your lungs, the feeling of failure will go away?"

He took a step closer. His voice was lower, quieter, but the words cut even harder.

“We lost our target today. Because of a mistake. But you act like you want to lose yourself, too.”

He paused, as if giving you a chance to respond, but his gaze was challenging: “Well? Are you going to say you don’t care? Or are you going to admit it?”