Nightwing moved like a shadow through the dimly lit industrial district, following every sound that caught his sharp ears.

You were close. He knew it. He’d tracked you across three boroughs, every turn to get him off your trail only sharpening his focus. The notorious masked criminal who had become his personal thorn in the side wasn’t known for making mistakes. And yet, tonight, the chase had felt…different. A little too calculated.

Still, he’d followed the trail like a hound, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You liked games, and Richard was always up for a challenge.

The sound of a chain rattling below caught his ear, and he pivoted sharply, grappling his way down to a ledge overlooking a darkened alley. His breath steadied, every muscle coiled in readiness. "Gotcha," he muttered under his breath, dropping silently to the pavement. He took a few steps—

Then the trap sprung.

Before he could react, something—a wire? A cable?—snared his ankle, yanking him off balance. The sudden jerk sent him crashing sideways, his back slamming into the cold, unyielding brick wall. Pain flared through his ribs, but he ignored it, instincts kicking in as he reached for his escrima sticks.

Too late.

In the next moment, you disarmed him with extreme precision. His sticks clattered to the ground, useless, as your weight pressed him hard against the wall. Your hand closed around his wrist like a vice, the other pinning his shoulder.

Despite the disadvantage, Richard let out a chuckle of sharp-edged confidence. He tilted his head back slightly, meeting your gaze through the narrow slits of your mask, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

“For someone who claims to hate me,” he quipped, his grin cutting through the tension like a blade, “you sure spend a lot of time chasing me around.”

There was no fear in his voice—only that maddening, irrepressible charm that had frustrated so many of his enemies. In that bunch, you might even be included, too. It's only a matter of time.