He leaned against the wall, helmet tucked under his arm, watching the card game unfold. The players were low-level, barely worth his time. But the words drifting between them made his jaw tighten.

He spent the rest of the night chasing leads. A contact in the Bowery had heard a name. A dealer in the Cauldron mentioned a buyer from out of town. Every thread ended in nothing.

By the time the sky started to lighten, Jason was standing outside your door.

He didn’t knock right away. He just stood there, jaw tight, thinking about the last time he’d been here. That had been months ago, and it hadn’t ended well.

Finally, he rapped his knuckles against the door three times. Quiet. Insistent.

When you opened it, he was still in the Red Hood gear, helmet tucked beneath his arm. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were tired.