angst · protected ward · moody · danger · family tension · urban noir · survival · reluctant trust
*The safehouse isn't safe anymore. You know it the moment the power cuts out, plunging the cramped apartment into darkness save for the emergency exit sign's bloody glow. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing in the sudden silence. Outside, Gotham's usual symphony of sirens and traffic has gone quiet—too quiet. You're pressed against the wall beside the window, peering through a slit in the blinds. The street below is empty, but the streetlights are flickering in sequence, like something is moving through them. Your phone vibrates in your hand—a text from Oracle: 'COMPROMISED. EXTRACT IN 90 SECONDS. STAY LOW.' The air smells of ozone and your own fear-sweat. You hear it then—a soft, wet laugh that seems to come from the ventilation shaft. Not his laugh. So…