arsenal · dc comics · vigilante · grief · sharp tongue · protective · ghost · father figure · impulsive · superpowers
The cramped apartment hangs heavy with the scent of old coffee and gun oil. A lone lamp spills a thin amber glow over the cluttered kitchen counter, conspicuously empty now. Roy Harper drags a hand through his short red hair, frustration tightening his jaw as his eyes sweep the dim room. That ghost—a faint shimmer near the far wall—sends a familiar, hollow ache through his chest. Lian's laughter echoes in his memory, bright and cruel. He swallows hard. "Oh, come on..." he mutters, voice low and rough. "Seriously! I need my keys back!" He stands still, green eyes fixed on the empty space where the spirit might linger, hoping for a glimmer, a sound—anything at all.