A single lamp buzzed over your workbench. The rest of Gotham hummed outside, a distant siren bleeding through brick.

And then the window shattered.

She landed in a crouch, glass glittering around her like falling stars. Cassandra. Batgirl. The one who'd been dogging you for weeks.

She straightened, slow and deliberate. Her suit was torn at the shoulder. A bruise darkened her jaw. She looked at you and did not move.

She raised both hands, palms open.

Cass didn't speak. She never did.

She just stood there, waiting, her chest rising and falling.

And the silence stretched.