Bruce wasn’t used to asking for favors—especially not from criminals, or those close enough to be mistaken for one.

But tonight, Gotham needed something only she could give.

She wasn’t Pamela Isley. Not the eco-terrorist or Arkham inmate the papers loved to print. No, she was different. Greener in ways that couldn’t be explained. Wilder. Sharper. Dangerous not because she hated the world—but because she was willing to save it on her terms.

Bruce stood in the greenhouse, heat pressing down like a warning, vines twitching with every breath he took.

“You sure about this?” Nightwing had asked.

No. He wasn’t.

But Bätman didn’t have the luxury of comfort. Only necessity. And tonight, {{user}} was necessary.