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Moving to Gotham City wasn’t part of Alexandra Reid’s original plan. In fact, she’d spent most of her adult life avoiding places like Gotham—places that bred stories far darker than she cared to write. But after the runaway success of her third novel, Smoke and Mirrors, and the whirlwind book tour that followed, Alexandra found herself craving the very thing she never thought she’d miss: solitude.
Gotham, for all its reputation, offered that in spades. Her new apartment was perched high in an older, gothic-style building overlooking the East End—a quieter area, by Gotham standards. It had charm, history, and a study with a balcony that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. It was the perfect place to write.
She didn’t expect to share it with a vigilante.
The first time she saw him, Alexandra nearly called the police.
It was late—well past midnight—and she’d been wrestling with a particularly stubborn chapter in her latest manuscript. The words refused to come, so she stepped onto the balcony for fresh air. That’s when she saw him: a figure crouched in the shadows, perched on the railing like a gargoyle.
Her heart jumped to her throat. "Who the hell are you?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
The figure turned, the dim light catching the crimson of his helmet. "Relax," he said, his voice distorted slightly. "I’m not here for you."
That didn’t exactly reassure her. "Then what are you here for?"
He shrugged. "Needed a spot to regroup. Your balcony’s got a good vantage point."
Alexandra frowned. "You can’t just—" She stopped herself. Could she really argue with someone wearing a mask and a loaded utility belt? Instead, she crossed her arms and glared. "Do you do this often?"
"Not really," he replied. "But this spot’s growing on me."
Over the next few weeks, Red Hood became an unexpected fixture in Alexandra’s life. He’d show up unannounced, sometimes with blood on his knuckles or scorch marks on his jacket. He never stayed long, just long enough to catch his breath or patch himself up before disappearing into the night.
At first, she avoided him, retreating into her study whenever he appeared. But curiosity got the better of her. Who was this man with the crimson helmet and the sharp wit? Why did he choose her balcony of all places?
One night, after pouring herself a glass of wine, she stepped outside and handed him a book.
He looked at it, then at her. "What’s this?"
"It’s called The Long Goodbye. Raymond Chandler," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "If you’re going to keep loitering on my balcony, you might as well read something decent."
Red Hood chuckled, low and quiet. "You’re assuming I can read."
"I’m assuming you have good taste," she countered. "Prove me wrong."
To her surprise, he returned the next night with the book in hand.
"Finished it," he said, tossing it onto the table. "Marlowe’s a hell of a character. Reminds me of someone I know."
Alexandra raised an eyebrow. "You read the whole thing in a day?"
He shrugged. "I don’t sleep much."
From then on, their conversations became a regular occurrence. They talked about books, movies, philosophy—whatever came to mind. He had a sharp intellect and a surprisingly dry sense of humor. She found herself looking forward to his visits, though she’d never admit it out loud.
One night, as rain pattered against the balcony’s iron railing, Alexandra asked him a question that had been on her mind for weeks.
"Why do you do it?" she said, leaning against the doorway. "The whole vigilante thing."
Red Hood paused, leaning back in his chair. He wasn’t wearing the helmet tonight, just a simple black domino mask that left most of his face hidden.
"Because someone has to," he said finally. "Gotham’s broken. Always has been. People like me… we’re the duct tape holding it together."
"But why you specifically? Why not someone else?"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed. "Let’s just say I’ve got a personal stake in this city."
She nodded, sensing that was all he was willing to share. "For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing more good than harm."
He smiled faintly. "Thanks, Doc."
One night, things changed.
Alexandra was at her desk, editing a particularly grueling chapter, when she heard it: the sound of heavy boots landing on the balcony. She glanced up, expecting the usual sardonic quip, but the sight that greeted her made her freeze.
Red Hood was hunched over, blood dripping from his knuckles. His jacket was torn, and there was a wild, haunted look in his eyes.
"Jason?" she said softly, the name slipping out before she could stop herself.
He flinched. "Don’t call me that."
"Sorry," she said quickly, stepping toward him. "What happened?"
He didn’t answer. Instead, he sat heavily in the chair, his hands trembling. She noticed for the first time that they were clenched into fists, white-knuckled and shaking with barely contained rage.
"Jason," she tried again, kneeling in front of him. "Talk to me."
His eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw the pain behind the mask. "I almost did it," he said, his voice raw. "I almost killed him."
She didn’t need to ask who he meant. The Joker was a name that echoed across Gotham like a curse, a constant presence in the city’s collective nightmares.
"Why didn’t you?" she asked gently.
He laughed bitterly. "Because I’m trying to be better. For them." He gestured vaguely toward the skyline. "For Bruce. For Dick. For everyone who thinks I’m still worth saving."
"You are," she said firmly. "You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t."
He looked away, his expression unreadable. "It doesn’t feel like it sometimes."
They sat in silence for a while, the rain mingling with the faint sounds of Gotham’s nightlife. Finally, Alexandra stood and disappeared inside, returning with a first aid kit.
"Let me help," she said, holding up a bandage.
He hesitated, then nodded. She cleaned his wounds in silence, her movements careful and precise. When she was done, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"Anytime," she replied, sitting beside him. "But you’re buying the next book."
He chuckled softly. "Deal."
In the weeks that followed, Alexandra noticed a change in him. He seemed lighter, less burdened. He still showed up unannounced, but their conversations grew longer, more relaxed. She never pried into his past, and he never asked about hers. They were two people with their own scars, finding solace in each other’s company.
And for Alexandra, that was enough.