A web in the dark

The walk back to the apartment was a blur.

Ian didn't ask questions. He didn't push, didn't even glance at her after they left the library. He just held her hand until they were safely inside, then let go without a word, giving her space.

She appreciated that.

The second they stepped inside, she veered away from the boys and headed straight for the rooftop.

The air was crisp, cutting against her cheeks as she sat on the ledge, her arms wrapped around her knees. Gotham stretched out below her—dark, cold, endless. The distant hum of sirens and city noise filled the silence, but it felt muffled. Distant.

Her hands were trembling slightly, but she ignored it.

She ignored the sting in her eyes, ignored the way her breath still felt uneven.

She ignored everything except the fact that she had just seen her father.

Not a version of him who was older, hardened by years of loss and secrecy. Not a stranger who barely resembled the man she had spent her childhood wondering about.

No.

He looked exactly like he did the day he left her at Aunt May and Uncle Ben's house.

Like no time had passed at all.

She exhaled shakily, her face tightening as she pulled her knees closer to her chest.

It wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

She didn't belong here.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

But there was no Tony. No Avengers. No Aunt May. No Uncle Ben.

No one was coming for her.

The tears she had barely registered before had dried on her cheeks by now, but she still felt... hollow.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, lost in thought. An hour? Two? Maybe more.

She didn't care.

Didn't care about the cold. Didn't care about the ache in her chest.

Didn't care—

Thud.

Her muscles tensed.

A body landed behind her, the sound barely more than a whisper against the rooftop gravel.

She whipped around, heart hammering, already scanning for an escape.

A man stood several feet away, dressed head-to-toe in red, his stance casual yet controlled, like he had done this a thousand times before.

His helmet—if she could even call it that—was weirdly shaped, almost like a bucket with a visor. The way the dim Gotham skyline reflected off the glossy red surface made it impossible to tell where he was looking, but she could feel his attention on her.

Then she noticed the weapons.

Two guns holstered at his hips. Another two hidden at his back.

And knives.

Lots of knives.

Her breath hitched slightly, her body winding tight, instincts screaming danger.

She had been around assassins her whole life. She knew how to pick apart threats from a single glance.

This guy?

Very dangerous.

And he was staring right at her.