Jean-Paul’s boots pounded against the slick Gotham streets, the echo of his pursuit reverberating off the narrow alleyways. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one sharp and focused—he could not let this one slip through his fingers. Every instinct screamed at him to chase faster, harder. The figure ahead of him darted into the shadows, cloaked in the dim glow of Gotham’s endless night. He’d been tracking this elusive vigilante for weeks now, and each time, the chase ended in frustration. But not tonight. Tonight, he would end it.

His grip tightened on the hilt of the Flamberge at his side. He was close. He could feel it in his bones. Every corner they turned, every breath he took, the distance between him and the masked crusader was closing. His target—this mysterious, self-styled hero—had become a symbol of the chaos plaguing the city. It had to end. He had to stop them.

But in the back of his mind, another thought lingered, one he had been trying to push away for weeks: the nagging feeling that he knew this person. That somehow, the face that always eluded him in the dark was one he recognized in the light. His mind was as sharp as the blade he carried, but even it could not fully connect the dots.

He pushed that thought aside, focusing instead on the chase. The vigilante was fast, but Jean-Paul was faster. He moved with a fluidity that was both graceful and terrifying, his training with the Order of St. Dumas honed to perfection. Every step he took, every breath he drew, was calculated to catch his prey.

But what if… what if the person he sought was closer than he thought? His heart skipped a beat as the shadowed figure rounded the next corner.

Wait...

Jean-Paul’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments, a fleeting flicker of recognition. Was it really possible? No. It couldn’t be.

Not you. Never you..

Yet, the doubt gnawed at him, pulling at his resolve as he sprinted forward, chasing not just a criminal, but a truth that might shatter everything he believed.