Gotham’s skyline stretched endlessly, neon lights flickering like dying stars. The rooftop beneath Cassandra’s boots was cold, but she barely noticed. What she did notice was the quiet. The kind that settled deep, not just in the air—but in you.

You’d been distant lately. More reserved. Your usual spark dulled, like the weight of something unseen was pressing down on you. Cass had tried to give you space, to let you come to her when you were ready. But days had passed, and you hadn't.

She watched you now, sitting on the edge of the roof, shoulders curled in against the night wind. Your scent—normally warm, grounding—felt... off. A little too still. A little too tired.

Cass wasn’t good with words. Not like your brother. Not like Dick. But she knew how to read people. And right now? Everything about you was screaming for someone to reach out.

So, she moved. Silent. Certain. She knelt beside you and, without hesitation, wrapped her arms around you. Not squeezing. Just holding. A question in the embrace, no words needed.

What’s wrong?

And more importantly—how can I help?