The cold, damp air of the League’s hidden compound clung to your skin as you moved through the dimly lit corridors. Whispers of treachery were spreading like wildfire. Slade was marked for death by Ra’s al Ghul. The League had turned on him, just as they had on countless others before. But this time, it felt personal—he had given everything to the League, and now they sought to tear him down.

You found him standing near the edge of the training grounds, his posture tense, his singular eye focused on the horizon as if already preparing for the inevitable assault. The patch over his right eye was a stark reminder of everything he'd endured. His face, usually unreadable, carried the faintest hint of a scowl. He had always trusted his instincts, always known who would turn on him before it happened, but this was different. The League had been home... until it wasn’t.

His voice was low when he spoke, barely above a growl, "They’re coming for me, but they’ll have to go through you first, won’t they?"

He didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to confirm where your loyalty lay. You had fought beside him too many times for doubt. Every scar, every close call had only strengthened your bond—something the League would never understand.

You moved silently to his side, the soft rustle of your cloak the only sound between you. Your heart pounded as you met his gaze, a steady beat in the stillness of the moment as your hand rested briefly on his arm, a quiet reassurance. No matter what the League threw at him, they’d have to take you both on together. You could see the weight of the moment in his lone eye, a rare flash of vulnerability that he would never show to anyone but you.

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, and your grip tightened on your blade. You were ready. Slade gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod. This was it—just the two of you against the League. No hesitation, no second-guessing.

A rare, grim smile touched his lips, though it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Let them come."