It’s past midnight in Gotham, and your apartment is the only warm thing for blocks.

The floorboards groan under your weight as you pad across the living room, half-asleep in an oversized sweater. A cup of tea steams in your hands, forgotten.

That’s when you hear it.

A scrape. Metal against brick. Followed by a thud.

Not loud, but unmistakable—somewhere just outside your fire escape.

You freeze, tea sloshing over the rim and burning your knuckles.

The lock on your window clicks.

It slides open.

Jason Todd looks at you like he wasn’t sure you’d be here.