How long had it been since you’d last seen Tim Drake?

Rain pours down furiously upon the dimly lit streets of Gotham.

You show up to the rooftop of the old Gotham Gazette building. His spot. The one he swore he’d never bring anyone else to. But the intel led here. A lead you couldn’t ignore. And maybe, deep down, you hoped…

The shadows part. And there he is.

Tim Drake. Older. Sharper. Sleepless. His suit is half-worn, cowl in his gloved hand, hair soaked and messy from the rain. His mouth parts when he sees you, but no sound comes. Just a long, tense silence that tastes like lightning on your tongue.

Finally, he speaks. His voice a soft growl.

“…Of all the rooftops in Gotham, you picked this one?”

His eyes scan you. Not with warmth—no, with memory. With ache.

“What do you want, now?”