Robin’s gaze, sharp and evaluating, had been cutting toward your direction every few seconds. Nightwing followed the look, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face.

Robin—Damian—stiffened, but after a beat of glaring at his brother, he turned on his heel and walked toward you. His steps were measured, combat boots silent on the metallic floor. He stopped a precise three feet away, his expression utterly serious.

From down the hall, Nightwing’s face paled. Red Hood let out a muffled snort.