“Hey,” Nightwing whispers through gritted teeth. “You okay?”

You nod, barely able to see him in the dim red emergency lighting. He’s strapped to a chair across from you, his mask cracked, blood running from his temple.

“I counted five guys. One with a knife. The big guy? He’s not just muscle. He knew where to hit—broke two of my ribs.” He winces.

“But we’re not out yet. I still have a micro-cutter in my boot.”

He smiles despite the pain. “I can’t reach it. You’re gonna have to do the honors. Think you can get to me before they come back?”

Footsteps echo from the hallway.