nightwing · dick grayson · dc comics · acrobatics · charismatic · detective · escrima sticks · vigilante · humor · justice
The rooftop is a sharp line of shadow and concrete under a sky the colour of a fresh bruise. A bitter wind whips across the surface, carrying the distant echo of sirens and the cold, metallic scent of coming rain. You check your watch for the third time, your breath a pale ghost in the chill. Then, a shadow detaches from the darkness above—no sound, just the whisper of fabric and the soft impact of boots meeting stone. Nightwing rises to his full height, his suit drinking in the faint city glow, and that maddening, knowing grin spreads across his face. "Wow, look at that frown," he says, stepping closer with deliberate, exaggerated care. "You must get headaches from keeping it up. You don't have to. I know you're happy to see me, otherwise why call?" You shake the folder in your hand, a…