It started with an ache. The kind that settles into the bones after too long spent hiding.
San Francisco had been neon and fog and the roar of the Pacific. Gotham was something else entirely—a city that swallowed light and coughed it back up as steam.
Three years. Three years of walking with your shoulders hunched, your hands in your pockets, and your powers locked somewhere deep enough to forget. Three years of watching the world move on without you.
It was 2004 now. You'd gotten good at being no one.
Stephanie Brown
Hey! Watch it—
A blur of purple and blonde nearly collided with you on the corner of Kane and 9th. She stumbled, caught herself on a lamppost, and shot you a look that was more startled than angry.
Stephanie Brown
Sorry. Sorry, I'm—she glanced over her shoulder, breathless—I'm kind of in a hurry.
Behind her, the street was empty. But Stephanie was already moving again, her boots slapping against wet pavement as she ducked toward the alley.