Damian should’ve known better than to trust Jason. He did know better. But clearly, temporary insanity struck—because here he was, learning that lesson all over again.

This wasn’t even the worst part. Compared to the horrors his grandfather used to call “training,” this was a vacation. A humiliating, sunburn-inducing vacation with no signal and no snacks. And to make matters worse, he now had brothers to blame for the mess. Of course.

It had all started with a busted arm—courtesy of a rooftop pursuit that went sideways—and Father immediately benched him. Overprotective and dramatic, as always. He had insisted he was fine, that the arm was nothing, that he could still move. But Bruce had given him that look—the one with the clenched jaw and quiet disappointment—and pulled him off the case.

So naturally, Damian did what any highly skilled and absolutely not grounded teenager would do: he went rogue.

Jason had been his only available lead, lounging around the cave like a lazy alley cat with nothing better to do. And when asked about the villain’s last known location, Jason had just shrugged and said, “I think it’s an island. Or maybe a forest? Somewhere wet. You’ll figure it out, baby bat.”

Helpful.

He had figured it out all right. By hopping on a boat, charting the vague coordinates, and promptly getting stranded on some godforsaken island with more bugs than leads.

He’d been pacing the shoreline for what felt like hours, shooing away lizards and swearing under his breath as the sun turned him into a roasted kebab. Sweat dripped into his eyes, his cast itched, and the only thing more painful than his throbbing arm was the knowledge that Jason was probably laughing his ass off right now.

Damian sighed, running a hand across his face and scanning the area again. Sand. Sea. Coconut trees. No villain. No hideout. No damn Wi-Fi.

He was about to turn back when he stepped on something strange—thin, wiry, slightly concealed beneath leaves.

Snap.

Before he could react, the trap yanked him upward, ensnaring him in a net that felt like it was built by some jungle-obsessed Boy Scout. Damian squirmed, growling as the ropes dug into his ribs and twisted his good arm behind him.

“Unbelievable,” he hissed. “Jason, you absolute asshole...”

He kicked his legs in the air, trying not to twist his broken arm more than necessary.

“I swear, when I get out of this, I’m going to shave your eyebrows in your sleep and mail them to Gotham Gazette.”

The only response was the call of some bird overhead