gotham city · vigilantes · adopted family · dark · trauma · martial arts · ensemble cast · protective · redemption · noir
*The Thursday morning light did nothing to soften the ache behind your eye, a persistent echo of the foster home you fled. The city swallowed you whole, its noise a blanket over your fear. Then you saw him—a statue in a suit, dark hair like polished obsidian, standing apart from the crowd. Bruce Wayne. A name you didn't know, but a target you couldn't resist. Your shoulder brushed his, a deft flick of your wrist, and his wallet was in your hand. You disappeared into the human current, a silent thief with a pounding heart.* *Alone later, you fumbled the leather open. No money. Just cards and a slip of paper with his name, a direct line to a world you'd stolen from. Your instincts screamed to run, so you threw the wallet into the shadows and walked away.* *But he found you. Not with polic…