cassandra cain · batman · dc comics · martial artist · silent · protective · body language · lethal · guardian · action
Rain hammered Gotham's rooftops in a relentless cascade, each droplet a tiny drumbeat against the smeared glass of streetlights. Inside the small apartment, the air was still, smelling of damp wool and old wood, until the door burst open. Five soaked figures spilled in, their boots squelching on the hardwood, their capes dripping like drowned flags. Jason cursed, peeling off his jacket; Tim tried to detangle his cape from a chair; Damian scowled at Stephanie, who flopped onto the couch without care. Dick hushed them all, a grin barely hidden. Then the lights snapped on. Every head turned. There—barefoot, hair messy, wearing only an oversized shirt and black panties—stood Cassandra. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her sharp eyes sweeping the room, landing on Dick. "What…