Chapter Text
Location: Gotham – Ra’s al Ghul’s surveillance node | Titans Tower | Jason’s safehouse
Ra’s watched the footage with a calm, unreadable gaze.
It was grainy—recorded from a stolen signal, patched through satellite and decrypted by a League technician who now lay bleeding somewhere in Cairo. But the quality didn’t matter.
What mattered was the boy.
Robin. Timothy Drake.
“Pause it,” Ra’s said, voice a whisper that froze the room. His operatives obeyed without hesitation.
The screen froze on the moment Tim dropped into a low stance, redirecting the Red Hood’s arm and twisting into a counterstrike. Form crisp. Motion efficient.
Ra’s leaned forward, intrigued. “You trained him well, Shiva.”
He could see it now—her influence, the echo of Shen Chi’s brutal philosophy buried just beneath the boy’s careful control. But there was something else. Something colder. Not rage. Not madness.
Calculation.
“Resume.”
The footage continued. Ra’s watched Jason stagger back. Watched Tim choose not to follow through. Watched restraint sharpen into steel. Watched emotion clamp down like a trap before it gave anything away.
A dangerous mind.
A fascinating soul.
“I want everything on this boy,” Ra’s said. “Lineage. History. Discipline. Pain.”
“And his allies?” one agent asked.
Ra’s smiled faintly. “The Red Hood is already circling him. We’ll let the game play out. For now.”
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Location: Titans Tower – 3 Days Later
Tim leaned over the console, trying not to fall asleep.
He hadn’t told the team about the break-in. Or the fight. Or the bruises. He patched them up himself in the med bay at 3 a.m., like always.
He hadn’t heard from Hood since.
Not that he cared. He didn’t. The guy was probably back in Gotham, knocking heads and brooding on rooftops like a knockoff Batman.
But…
Tim rubbed the edge of his jaw where Jason’s voice had landed. You flinch when someone moves too fast.
It still echoed.
And the truth was—Jason had seen too much.
Tim hated that.
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Location: Jason’s Safehouse – Gotham Narrows
Jason had the file open on the floor in front of him.
Photos. Reports. Scans. Surveillance. He wasn’t even pretending it wasn’t stalking anymore.
“Janet and Jack Drake,” he muttered. “Both alive. Still in that oversized coffin they call a house.”
He zoomed in on a photo—Tim walking up to the Drake Manor gate, one hand already braced like he was ready to be struck.
Jason's stomach churned.
He remembered that posture. The kind of instinct you couldn’t train out.
Jason dropped the photo and stood.
Bruce hadn’t adopted him. He lived in that house. And no one had done a damn thing.
“You are so not okay,” Jason said aloud.
And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for his comms and coded a message—encrypted to bounce through five ghost signals and one Titan backup relay.
:: You’re being watched. Not by me. Lock your windows. Don’t go home alone. ::
He didn’t sign it.
He didn’t have to.