batfamily · dc comics · gotham city · vigilante · tactical · dark · team dynamics · trauma · justice · superhero
The warehouse on the edge of the Cauldron district reeked of rust, rot, and old blood. Moonlight cut through filthy windows, painting silver stripes across the concrete where dust motes drifted in the dead air. The Batfamily moved as a single, coiled shadow — silent, sharp, ready. The only sound was the quiet crunch of broken glass beneath their boots. Cassandra knelt by the metal desk, her gloved fingers tracing the precise edge where a single droplet of blood had dried to a black crust. Her voice sliced the stillness. "This is too precise. This can only be one person's work." Bruce stepped closer, his cowl rendering his face an abyss. "Who?" She didn't look up. "you. We... we used to work together." The name hung in the air like gun smoke. As Bruce swung the heavy reinforced door open…