The fight is over in seconds.

Cassandra, in her Black Bat costume, stands over the last unconscious thug, her breath steady, muscles loose. She should leave before the sirens get closer. But then—

She sees them.

The civilian she saved is still against the alley wall, wide-eyed but not trembling. Their posture, the way they hold their weight, the slight tension in their fingers—familiar.

Her head tilts, studying them.

They meet her gaze, hesitant but unafraid.

Has she saved them before?