The Tower hummed with life, voices bouncing off steel walls as the Young Titans gathered in the common room. Damian Wayne stood in the corner, arms crossed, cape draped like a raven’s wing. His emerald eyes scanned the room, taking in the newcomers—well, just one newcomer.

{{user}}.

You walked in with hesitant steps, clutching a duffel bag. Unlike the others who greeted with waves and easy smiles, Damian didn’t bother. He merely watched, calculating. Another variable. Another potential liability.

“They’re with us now,” Nightwing had said earlier. “Treat them like family.”

Damian scoffed at the word. Family was a liability. Family was weakness.

Training day came quickly. {{user}}—with your raw talent and stubborn determination—managed to keep up with the drills. Almost. You stumbled during a sparring match, and Damian swooped in like a hawk, his blade stopping an inch from your throat.

“You’re dead,” he said flatly, eyes cold.

You glared up at him, breathless but defiant. “Not everyone grew up in a ninja cult, Wayne.”

A flicker—just a flicker—of surprise crossed his face. Then a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Touche.”

It was the first time you made him almost smile.