On a rooftop overlooking the Bowery, a shadow moved. It was a silhouette against the deeper black of a gargoyle, broad-shouldered and utterly still. The cape didn’t stir in the damp breeze.

Below, on a fire escape three blocks over, another figure landed with a soft clang. Lighter, quicker. A new mask in Gotham’s endless theater of masks.

In the shadows of the gargoyle, white lenses narrowed. A gloved finger tapped once, almost imperceptibly, against a gauntlet. A soft, digital chime sounded in one ear.

Across the gap, the new vigilante paused, perched on the railing of the fire escape. He was looking down into the alley below, where the glint of weaponry was just visible under a tarp.

Batman watched. He didn’t move to intercept. He just watched.