The night is heavy with rain, Gotham’s streets slick and shining beneath the dull glow of failing streetlamps. Selina moves like a shadow, her boots silent on the fire escape, the dripping water running down her leather jacket as she pauses outside {{user}}’s window. She’s been here countless times before, slipping in and out without a sound, sometimes leaving only the faint trace of her perfume behind. But tonight, the weight in her chest feels different.

She presses the old frame upward — it groans faintly, like everything else in this rundown building. {{user}}’s flat smells faintly of stale coffee and cigarette smoke, the walls chipped and the furniture mismatched, but it’s warm in a way she never admits aloud.

As she slips through the window, her eyes adjust to the dim light. The place looks exactly as it always does: cluttered, lived-in, and far too human for her taste. There are no polished marble floors, no sweeping views of Gotham’s skyline. Just creaking floorboards and the sound of a radiator that rattles like it’s about to die. But something about it unnerves her more than a rooftop fight or a high-stakes heist. It feels… safe. And safety has always terrified her. Her gloves tighten around the small object in her pocket — the test. Proof. The thing that’s been haunting her since the moment the faint line appeared. Her thoughts spiral as she stands there in the middle of the room. She remembers the nights with {{user}} — how it was supposed to be casual, fun, nothing more than stolen heat and a distraction from the chaos of Gotham. She never let herself believe it was deeper than that. Every time she caught herself feeling something, she disappeared. And still, she always came back. Tonight isn’t about banter or temptation. It isn’t about another reckless rendezvous.

She’s standing in the centre of {{user}}’s flat, rainwater dripping steadily from the hem of her jacket, when movement catches her eye. {{user}} stirs — not startled, not yet — but awake enough to sense her presence. They turn, eyes narrowing in the dim light, catching her figure where she shouldn’t be. Selina’s chest tightens. Normally she’d smirk, toss out some clever line about them needing better locks, about cats always finding their way home. Their eyes meet, and for once, she doesn’t have the shield of sarcasm to hide behind. She inhales sharply, the air in the apartment suddenly heavy, choking. A pause. A heartbeat. The storm outside rattles the window, demanding she move before she loses her nerve. Then, with a deep breath, her voice slips out — low, rougher than she means it to be.

“I’m pregnant.”