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Chapter Text

The grappling hooks whirred, pulling Batman and Robin swiftly toward the gargoyle of a tower overlooking the moonlit street below. Far beneath them sat the high-end auction house rumoured to be the next mark for Gotham’s most elusive cat burglar.

“Stay sharp, Robin,” Batman murmured, his cowl a stark silhouette against the moon. “Catwoman has gotten bolder lately.”

The search for her didn’t take long. Perched on a rooftop between them and the auction house was a familiar silhouette — tall, lean, and unmistakable in her signature purple catsuit, but this time, she wasn’t alone; a smaller second figure crouched beside her.

Robin squinted. “Is that a kid?”

Batman’s jaw tensed beneath the cowl. “It is,” he said, his voice low. “Selina has crossed the line.”

Robin frowned. “You think she’s using the kid? Like a decoy or something?”

“No,” Batman said, his eyes narrowing as he watched the pair. “She’s training her.”

Without further hesitation, the two dropped down to intercept before a crime could be committed.

Catwoman didn’t flinch at the sudden appearance of the larger Bat and his sidekick. Instead, she turned toward them with a familiar smirk.

“Why, hello, Batman. Fancy meeting you here,” she purred. “Here for the antique as well?”

But instead of addressing the Cat, Batman’s gaze snapped past her to the small figure at her side.

“Catwoman,” his voice was a low growl. “Who’s your shadow?”

The girl wore a practical purple tracksuit with kneepads and a full-face mask concealed everything but her eyes, which were obscured by dark lenses.

“Who is she, Selina?” Batman pressed. “What are you doing with a child?”

Selina chuckled, low and unapologetic. “This is Catgirl.” She rested a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. “Aren’t you, sweetie?”

The supposed Catgirl didn’t respond with words, but there was something haunting in her stillness. Batman had seen too many children in the wrong places — war zones disguised as alleys, backrooms of crime dens, morgues, but this girl wasn’t a victim. This child didn’t stumble into Selina’s world; she moved as if she were born from it.

Robin took a step forward. “You’re training a kid to steal? That’s messed up, even for you, Catwoman.”

Batman raised a hand, quickly reining Robin back.

Selina’s eyes narrowed, her playful demeanor momentarily gone. “She’s learning to survive, Boy Wonder. Gotham devours the weak. I don’t leave people behind when they need me.”

Her eyes locked on Batman as she said it.

He ignored the jab, his focus had already shifted entirely to the girl. She was watching and studying them, dissecting their every breath, every shift in weight, and every subtle movement. Batman had seen that level of observation in only a handful of individuals, and never in someone so young.

In one fluid execution, Batman lunged to place himself between Selina and the child, to grab her by the wrist. He expected Catwoman to dodge, but he didn’t expect the girl to vanish first, slipping out of reach with a motion so fast and subtle it was nearly imperceptible. She had simply ceased to be where she’d been, a blur of movement too fast and too quiet for even him to track.

Batman’s move had been a calculated gamble, but the girl’s reaction wasn’t in the equation. He pivoted, eyes scanning the rooftop, searching for the small form that had just been at Selina’s side. Her absence was more unsettling than her presence.

Selina caught onto his intent, and immediately her expression darkened. She fired a grappling hook to a nearby building. “Looks like our little playdate is over, Batman,” she snarled, pulling herself up.

Catgirl suddenly reappeared behind Batman and Robin, running between them as she followed after Selina without a hook, sprinting across the rooftops in a streak of purple until she rejoined Selina. Once beside her, Catwoman wrapped one arm around the girl’s waist, fired another line, and they swung together around the corner into a blind spot.

Batman stood still, the wind whipping his cape around him, watching the Gotham night the pair disappeared into. He couldn’t stop Catwoman, but that wasn’t what lingered in his mind. It was the image of the child, something hauntingly familiar there, something that reminded Batman of someone. Selina Kyle had found more than just a partner in crime; she had found a living, breathing shadow that could either be Gotham’s next great protector or its most dangerous new threat.

Chapter Text

The night air rushed past Selina Kyle and her shadow, as they soared between rooftops, leaving Batman and Robin behind to be swallowed by Gotham’s skyline. Cassie moved beside her like her double, easily matching up the adult’s speed and agility. There was no hesitation, or wasted motion, her body just flowed like water, and her instincts were terrifyingly sharp.

Selina had found her almost a year ago, feral and silent in the corner of an abandoned warehouse. A child who didn’t know how to speak, but moved like she’d been born into violence. The girl didn’t flinch when Selina approached. She didn’t cry, but instead just waited and assessed. Most people would have called the cops, or a social worker, but Selina saw a kindred spirit, a reflection of the raw survival instinct that had always driven her. She brought her home.

Not to one of her usual rotating bolt-holes or penthouse squats, but to an old secluded brick tenement with rooftop access and no working cameras, near the edge of peaceful district of Gotham. It wasn’t glamorous, but the place was peaceful and stayed warm in winter.

They landed without a sound, their rhythm unbroken. Selina led the way to the rooftop access, and together they vanished into the building, descending into the quiet safety of their top-floor apartment.

The apartment was bright and warm, lit by a scatter of mismatched cat-shaped lamps that cast soft pools of amber across the room, but there were new things now, things that hadn’t belonged to Selina’s world before Cassie. A modest bookshelf stood against the wall, filled with worn children’s paperbacks. On the coffee table, a new sketchbook lay open, with a stack of a few already-filled ones piled neatly beside it.

Selina tapped gently on the girl’s shoulder so as to not to startle her.

“Good job, Cassie,” Selina said softly, while at the same time, signed with her hands the same in ASL.

With the same quiet care, Selina reached for Cassie’s mask, gently lifting it away. The girl’s short black hair, damp from exertion, clung to her forehead. Selina’s fingers combed through Cassie’s tangled strands, smoothing them back behind her ear. Cassie didn’t smile, she never did, but her gaze flicked upward for a heartbeat, meeting Selina’s with a still, unreadable intensity. A tiny nod followed, barely there, a blink of acknowledgment. Selina exhaled slowly. She’d take it.

Selina peeled off her gloves then began to unfasten her suit, Cassie watched her for a moment before slipping off her costume. Selina swapped her leather for a soft, loose cashmere sweater and comfortable sweatpants, while Cassie dressed in an oversized hoodie and cotton shorts, her small frame swallowed by comfort.

Once changed, Cassie remained standing, glancing briefly toward the sketchbook on the table before picking it up and settling cross-legged on the floor nearby.

Selina watched her for a moment, then smiled to herself.

Cassie liked to draw, but not stick figures or flowers, nothing childlike. She drew bodies in movement — a body twisting mid-leap, the arc of a punch just before impact, or the graceful landings of a large man in bat suit and a boy in pixie boots. Shapes stretched by motion, and momentum captured in a few precise strokes. It was beautiful and a little eerie.

Selina wondered if she got the idea from the paintings that lined the apartment walls, things Selina had lifted from museums years ago. Maybe the classical paintings, and renaissance anatomy sketches planted a seed in the girl. Selina smiled, remembering the day she named her. It had been in front of a classical painting of the Trojan princess Cassandra, a figure whose silent, misunderstood sorrow seemed to mirror the girl’s own.

Selina moved to make tea, adding a spoonful of honey to one mug. She carried it over and extended it to Cassie. The girl didn’t look up from her drawing, but her small hand reached out, accepting the warmth of the mug. Cassie never asked for it, but she drank it when offered. That was enough.

Robin’s voice lingered in her mind, a sharp, accusing echo: “You’re training a kid to steal?” His tone had cut like a blade. The Bat and his Bird never did understand survival. Gotham would not play fair, or give warnings, but would consume the unprepared. She wasn’t teaching Cassie to steal, she was teaching her to survive.

The irony wasn’t lost on her, she was learning from Cassie too. Cassie’s presence had a profound effect on Selina, making her slower, more deliberate, and less reckless. When you’re responsible for someone, you can’t just vanish when it gets hard. You stay.

₍^. .^₎⟆

Batman left Robin behind. This wasn’t a patrol, this was personal.

Batman knew most of Selina’s old hideouts, the high rooftops, the obscure boltholes, the forgotten buildings with perfect vantage points and easy escape routes, but she hadn’t used any of them lately. No movement in months. That alone was unusual.

She’d rooted herself somewhere quieter and boring, not exactly crime central. It didn’t fit her usual M.O., not the kind of neighbourhood that screamed ‘Catwoman’.

He moved with silence up the side of the opposite building, his grappling line catching the edge of the fire escape just below the roof. He hung there in the shadows, motionless, his sensors already scanning.

Two heat signatures glowed inside. Neither moved much; they were relaxed and calm.

He toggled to infrared. The details blurred in the wash of thermal light, but outlines emerged from the gloom like ghosts. The taller figure, Selina, stepped out of the kitchen, carrying two mugs. She crouched beside the smaller one, seated on the floor, cross-legged and still.

Selina signed something to the girl. The smaller form beside her, still mostly obscured, stayed completely still, eyes down on something on her laps. The girl was not displaying signs of distress and was comfortable around Selina.

Infrared couldn’t pick up expressions, but Batman didn’t need the detail to imagine it. The softness in Selina’s posture. The unguarded rhythm of her movements. The kind of moment people didn’t fake, because they didn’t expect to be seen.

This wasn’t a criminal operation. It wasn’t a lair or a trap or some backup plan. It was home, and she had stayed here, in this old brick tenement, for a girl who couldn’t speak.

Batman dropped back into the alley without a word. He knew that if he stepped into that room, he would ruin something. Something he had no right to touch.

Chapter Text

Inside a corner coffee shop, Barbara Gordon sat at a table near the window, nursing her cup of coffee. Just a rare break from patrol and the chaos of Gotham. No Batgirl, just Barbara.

She was deep in thoughts when an oddly out of place sound snagged her attention. It was a small voice, but louder than it should have been for its size, uttering a crudely formed “He-llo” from the counter.

Barbara glanced up. A girl, looks about ten to twelve, probably the same age as the Jason Todd she knew, stood silently before the waitress. Her short dark hair was neatly combed, and she wore a simple white tee tucked into a faded, well-worn denim skirt embroidered with small colourful cats. but what truly caught Barbara’s eye, beyond the unusual vocalisation, was the girl’s calm presence..

The waitress, a woman with a kind smile, leaned down. “Well, hello there, sweetie. What can I get for you?”

The girl remained silent, her dark eyes wide and unblinking. She reached into a pocket and produced a small, laminated card, and held it out to the waitress, who took it gently and read aloud, her voice soft, “Hello, my name is Cassandra. I am not good with words.”

Barbara felt a subtle shift within her. Not pity, but a sudden, sharp clarity. She recognised the quiet dignity in the girl’s posture, the lack of apology in her expressive eyes.

Cassandra then flipped to a page in a small, worn notepad she held, pointing a small finger at a line.

The waitress peered closer, then smiled. “You’d like a tea with honey, then? No problem at all, Cassandra.”

Cassandra nodded once, then waited patiently, still clutching her notepad, until the tea, steaming gently in a child-sized mug, was placed on the counter. A rough, choked-out “Th-Thank you” escaped her lips, before she took it carefully with her small hands, and retreated to a seat facing out to the playground. There, she pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil, and became utterly engrossed in her drawing.

Barbara felt an unexpected tug, and watched her for a few more minutes, there was something profoundly captivating about the child’s self-contained world. She moved with an innate grace, a fluidity that spoke of deep awareness, even in such mundane actions. It wasn’t just the way Cassandra spoke, or didn’t, but the strong presence she carried. This wasn’t just a quiet girl; she seemed to take in everything around her, sharp and aware.

Beyond the coffee shop’s window, the small neighbourhood playground buzzed with the muted sounds of laughter and a child’s joyful shrieks. A mother pushed her daughter on a swing, their silhouettes momentarily eclipsing the afternoon sun with each upward arc. The little girl, no older than Cassandra, giggled, her tiny legs kicking in delight.

Barbara noticed a subtle shift in Cassandra. Her grip over her pencil stiffened, her back straightened just a fraction as her gaze locked onto a mother and daughter on a swing. Though no emotion crossed her face, the absolute stillness of her small body spoke volumes. Her eyes, wide and focused, seemed to absorb every minute detail of the simple, joyful interaction, as though trying to understand a foreign language.

The quiet clink of Barbara’s coffee cup against its saucer broke the trance. Cassandra’s body tensed, her head snapping up toward the source of the sound, resulting in her dark, sharp eyes meeting Barbara’s across the cozy, lamp-lit space.

Barbara offered a genuine warm smile, but Cassandra didn’t return the smile, only nodding her head slightly, a quiet gesture of acknowledgment. 

Barbara looked away first, the sudden depth of the connection catching her off guard. She was unsure why the moment, so simple and silent, lingered in her chest. She glanced at her watch and her eyes widened; the time was much later than she had realised. With a soft gasp, she downed the last of her coffee and hurriedly packed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

As she stood to leave, she paused, glancing one last time at Cassandra. Something told her she’d see her again.

Chapter Text

Catgirl crouched low on the rooftop, a dark silhouette pressing against the shadows. Tonight, her assignment was different, if she spotted Batman, she was to send a single, silent tap on the shared communicator built into the collar of her suit. That was all, nothing more.

She had followed Selina for weeks now, roof to roof, job to job. Always in motion, always part of the job, but tonight, Catwoman had looked at her with a strange mix of firmness and concern, touched her shoulder, and signed slowly: “Watch for bat. Do not follow.”

Catgirl had nodded, because she always did.

But now, alone in the hush of the rooftop, frustration stirred beneath her ribs. Catgirl didn’t understand why she was left behind. The question burned, a frustrating silence in her mind, for she still couldn’t find the words to ask. Did it got to the man and boy they met on their last trip?

Suddenly, something stirred at the fringe of her vision.

In the distance, a graceful silhouette dotted the distant skyline, not the hulking form of the Bat she knew, but a smaller swifter Batgirl. Catgirl tensed, eyes narrowing. It wasn’t the Bat she was assigned to watch for, but it was a Bat nonetheless.

She reached for the communicator, and tapped it once. There was a pause, then came a soft buzz of acknowledgment from Catwoman.

But Batgirl was getting too close and too fast. Catgirl needed to buy Catwoman time. Without a second thought, she reached for a loose piece of gravel, weighty in her palm, and hurled it. It skipped across the rooftop, landing with a sharp clatter just ahead of Batgirl, announcing her presence.

Batgirl spun instantly, landing in a low crouch. Scanning for the source, and instantly found the girl. Their eyes met across the rooftop, and Catgirl could see the surprise in her posture. Catgirl rose from the shadows slowly and deliberately, and just stood there, a thin figure in purple, tempting the female Bat. Batgirl’s eyes widened, she hadn’t expected to find the mysterious Catgirl alone, much less for the child to actively engage her.

A prior instruction from Selina echoed in her mind: “Never get into a fight”. Another confusing directive, especially now, but this time, it felt unavoidable. Batgirl was fast, unnervingly so. She would catch up easily. Catgirl tensed, every muscle coiled, ready for the inevitable confrontation, the silent battle she was compelled to join, regardless of Selina’s confusing rules.

Batgirl lunged forward, intending to close the distance, to assess and gain control; but Catgirl was a blur, moving with an eerie, prescient grace.

Even before Batgirl struck, Catgirl could see it in her stance — the weight shift to her right hip, the tightening of her shoulder. The body telegraphed what the mouth never could. The attack was already written.

Batgirl’s next strike, a swift leg sweep aimed to knock the younger girl off-balance, met only empty air. Catgirl had already shifted, flowing around the movement, her small frame twisting, making her an impossible target. Batgirl changed tactics, throwing a series of quick, targeted jabs. Each one was expertly dodged, not by active parries, but by subtle shifts in weight, a turn of a shoulder, a simple dip of the head.

A frustrated grunt escaped Batgirl as she found herself constantly off-balance. She was faster, stronger, more experienced, yet the girl, despite her size, could be considered as actually winning. It wasn’t chance. Every dodge, every slip from reach, was too exact. Batgirl felt as though she were sparring with someone who had already memorized her body. Catgirl’s movements weren’t aggressive, they were purely defensive, designed to evade, to frustrate, to exhaust. She wasn’t trying to land a hit, only to prevent one.

Just as Batgirl committed to a wide, arcing kick, hoping to finally corner her elusive opponent, a familiar, whip-like crack echoed across the rooftop. Catwoman appeared suddenly from the edge of the building, her form silhouetted against the distant city lights.

“Playtime’s over, Batgirl,” Catwoman’s voice purred from above, laced with a familiar amusement.

A coil of whip snapped out, curling neatly around Catgirl’s waist, and with a powerful tug, Catwoman hauled Catgirl upwards and towards her. The smaller figure ascended easily, allowing herself to be pulled.

Once reunited, they moved in tandem, Catgirl slipping in beside her like a shadow, their rhythm perfectly matched. Batgirl leaped forward to give chase, but they were already too far, dissolving into the night.

Left alone on the wind-swept rooftop, Batgirl watched them go. She had faced formidable opponents, but this child, this Catgirl, was something else entirely. The fight hadn’t been about strength or skill, but about an uncanny ability to predict, to disappear from harm’s way. She couldn’t say for certain if she would be able to defeat her.

₍^. .^₎⟆

High above, Catgirl risked one glance back at the shrinking rooftop. Her chest still hummed with the rush of fight, the strange spark of testing herself against the Bat girl. The sparring had been fun.

But she could tell that Catwoman wasn’t sharing the same feeling from the tightness in her grip, and the clipped silence between them. A wave of unease washed over the girl, Catwoman was upset about something, more accurately, angry over something, and Catgirl wondered if it was aimed at her.

She wished she knew how to ask. The words never came, no matter how she tried.

Her thoughts snagged instead on the girl in the cape, her sharp, dangerous movements. A Bat, and Selina hated Bats. That must be it.

The unease deepened, settling into something colder. Were Bat-humans bad?

Chapter Text

Batgirl’s recent report had changed everything. She’d encountered the so-called Catgirl in the field, and fought her. Batman could no longer tolerate Selina dragging a child into that kind of danger.

He’d watched Selina and the girl leave the building an hour ago, stepping out the front door in civilian clothes, just like ordinary people. No rooftop exit, no slipping out of the windows like thieves. He’d waited long enough to be certain they were gone before slipping silently through the locked rooftop exit.

Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of tea and jasmine. The space was modest, unassuming. Lived-in, and grounded. Too grounded for Selina Kyle.

He moved carefully, and started in the kitchen, methodically swabbing for prints. A fingerprint lifted easily from the fridge door, at the height of a child. Another from a small, ceramic mug decorated with faded cartoon cats.

On the kitchen table sat a clipped stack of papers. He flipped through them in the half-light, an acceptance letter from a private specialised therapeutic school for children. His brow furrowed beneath the cowl.

He moved to the small bathroom. A pair of toothbrushes, one child-sized. A comb with dark strands of hair.

In the back corner, near the window, lay a folded blanket, a careful stack of smooth, coloured glass cats, and a sketchbook half-buried under a pillow. He flipped it open. No rainbows or stick figures. Just pure, unadulterated motion; bodies in mid-strike, shadows shaped like people caught in a blur of movement. One sketch, in particular, looked like him, his cape a flowing, abstract shape. The lines were too fluid, too raw, like she was drawing the kinetic energy of a fight, not the figures themselves. He closed it gently, then carefully swabbed the shaft of the pencil.

On the counter, another stack of papers. Bills, and application form for an special language school for the young lay beside a thick folder of ASL materials. Batman flipped through the pages, finding that Selina’s neat handwriting filled the margins. She had made notes, not as a criminal would with plans or schemes, but as a parent would, with patient observations.

One page, filled with diagrams of hand signs, had a note: ‘Quick with signs, slow with reading.’ The notes weren’t a summary of the girl’s abilities, but a glimpse into a difficult and patient process. A different page, filled with a list of simple vocabulary words, contained another observation. ‘Cassie can mimic speech, but doesn’t understand the meaning of the words.’

Cassie. He finally had a name.

Selina wasn’t grooming a protégé, or training a partner in crime. This was a home. He hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but now he couldn’t deny it. Selina wasn’t using the girl, she was raising her.

Still, another part of him refused to let go of the undeniable truth, that she still brought the girl on jobs, and Gotham was unforgiving. One wrong move, one stray bullet, one second too slow. It wasn’t fair to the girl, not even if she moved like a ghost, not even if Selina loved her.

He kept going: DNA, fingerprints, traces. Anything that could lead to full identification: birth records, medical reports, missing persons reports. Anything. Because no matter what his instincts told him, he had to know the full truth. If Selina had taken a child that didn’t belong to her, he’d have to act. Even if it meant tearing this life apart. Even if it meant losing something irreplaceable in Selina’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd hated stakeouts, especially this one.

He was crouching low on the rooftop opposite the aging brick school, buried in a web of HVAC vents and pigeon droppings, watching kids stream into the building like ants. It was a normal-looking school day, kids in brightly coloured backpacks filed in — laughing, signing, jostling each other — but Batman wasn’t here for normal.

Jason adjusted the lenses on his goggles. “You know I skipped school for this, right?”

His lenses were trained on a single girl. The same one from the rooftop, only now she was helping another student pick up a dropped book. It was an ordinary gesture, but it looked out of place. This wasn’t the kind of move he’d expect from someone raised by Catwoman.

“You’re sure that’s her?” Jason muttered. “Catgirl.”

“Cassie,” Batman corrected.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “We’re on a first-name basis now?”

Jason leaned back on his haunches. “She’s living with Catwoman. She shows up at the museum job. She moves like a pro.” Jason scowled. “So what’s the play? We snatch her? Call CPS? Beat Catwoman into signing over custody?”

“She’s not a target,” Batman finally said, his voice low and firm. “She’s a child.”

Jason rolled his eyes, then shot back, “Yeah, a child who nearly out-manoeuvred Barbara last week. You think Catwoman taught her that?”

“No,” Batman said. “Watch her hands. The way she mirrors body language. She’s studying every person who walks by. She’s learning to be normal.”

Jason followed Batman’s gaze. The girl tilted her head as a teacher passed, copying the subtle hand gesture he made while greeting another student. A second later, she did it again, as if testing how it felt. Jason frowned. It was uncanny, like watching a broken mirror stitch itself together.

“You ever gonna tell me what’s really going on with her? You’ve been trailing Catwoman for weeks.”

Batman finally turned to face him. “She’s not just another runaway. Her DNA and prints came back inconclusive for any direct matches in the system, save for her being half Asian. There’s no familial link to Selina Kyle, and she’s showing signs of severe social trauma, likely language deprivation.”

“Language depri-what?” Jason blinked.

“She wasn’t taught to speak. Not just physically. Cognitively. She can’t process communication like we do, but her brain found another way. She reads people.” Batman’s jaw tightened. “She’s something Gotham has never seen before. A reflection of all the worst parts of this city, distilled into one silent girl.”

Jason was quiet for a second, then decided not to think too deep into it. “So Catwoman found her, what, wandering Gotham like some mute stray?”

“Possibly.”

The two fell silent. Cassie paused at the school doors, her dark eyes scanning the courtyard as if memorizing exits and faces. For an instant, Jason swore she was looking right at them across the distance. His chest tightened, but then she turned away and disappeared inside.

Jason exhaled. “She’s a kid, but she doesn’t act like one.”

“That’s what worries me,” Batman said.

Jason tugged his hood tighter against the wind, still uneasy. “So what happens next?”

Batman didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Something worried Selina all day. There was no specific reason for it — no missed call, no broken window, no sign that the sanctuary she had so carefully built was in jeopardy. Yet, an unshakable sense of unease was plaguing her. It was the feeling once would get just before a storm, when the air was too still, and the shadows were too long.

She fetched Cassie from school, and returned to their quiet tenement. The apartment was exactly as they had left it. She had checked the window latches and the door lock, but they were pristine. There was no sign that Batman had been there.

Selina stood at the stove, waiting for the water to boil. Cassie sat at the tiny table, sketching. Her head was tilted at a thoughtful angle, charcoal smudged on her fingers. She hadn’t spoken a word, but Selina knew she felt it too.

Selina turned off the burner before the whistle sounded, she didn’t need the signal, she trusted her instinct. Selina’s instincts, honed by a lifetime of danger, screamed at her.

She made a meal for herself and Cassie, and ate in silence, but her eyes kept flicking to the shadows in the corner, her ears straining for a sound that wasn’t there. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Not by a specific person, but by the city itself. She was Catwoman, and she trusted her instincts more than she trusted logic. Her gut, her muscles, every nerve ending told her that this place was no longer safe. The game had changed.

As she rose to collect their plates, Cassie reached across the table and held out the small page she’d been working on. Selina looked at the drawing, then back at her daughter’s impassive face.

Cassie’s art style had always incorporated shadow contrast and abstract motion. Usually, Selina had to guess at what the drawings meant, but this one hit her all at once.

It was a rooftop, sketched from their window’s angle. On the rooftop was a figure crouched low along the edge, just out of the light, cape mid-sway as if caught by the wind. She hadn’t seen anyone there for the past few days, but Cassie had.

Selina looked back at her daughter. Cassie’s expression didn’t change, she just watched her, solemn and still, as if waiting for Selina to catch up.

It only took her a heartbeat to process the realisation that Batman had come that close, was outside their apartment, they were within his reach, watching them — watching Cassie. And Cassie saw him, and rendered him in pencil.

Batman wouldn’t break in while they were home; he had rules, but he was getting closer. A decision was made that instant, they would be gone before daybreak. She wasn’t fleeing a known threat, but a future one.

Selina crossed to the closet and pulled down a duffel bag, which was already half-packed with cash, IDs, burner phones, and batteries. An old habit, but a good one. She tossed in more essentials as Cassie watched with unsettling calm.

In the haste, Selina had forgotten to sign and explain to Cassie that they would be moving, but her actions spoke louder than words. There were no questions, the girl simply understood, and moved silently toward her small, hidden box of keepsakes, packing as well.

Selina wasn’t angry, but she knew what would happen if they stayed. She wouldn’t let him decide what Cassie became. Selina had built this quiet, peaceful life for Cassie, and she would be damned if she let him tear it apart.

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled of jasmine and rain. Selina had moved fast, Batman found the tell-tale signs of a hasty departure, his eyes moving from one detail to the next. A cat toy kicked beneath a radiator. An almost-full jar of tea leaves still on the counter. The wardrobe stood open, most of its contents untouched. This was not the careful order of a planned departure, but the mess of a panicked flight. Selina had run, taking the girl with her.

He surveyed the empty rooms, the absence of life more profound than any presence. Selina had built a semblance of a home here, a fragile sanctuary for a lost child. A sudden pang of doubt hit him. He could simply let them go. This was Gotham, a city of second chances and impossible coincidences. Perhaps this was an act of fate, a sign to let the impossible happen.

His comms crackled.

“Batman,” Jason’s voice, strained but breathless. “I’ve got eyes on them. They’re running across the rooftops. I’m chasing now.”

Grim resolve hardened his jaw. He didn’t believe in fate, only in choices and their consequences. He had a job to do.

₍^. .^₎⟆

Selina’s lungs burned as she vaulted the last gap, her boots skidding against the wet tiles. Cassie was with her, light as shadow, never more than half a step behind.

Boy Wonder had seen them. He was a streak of red and green across the night, but he was nonetheless slower than them. But they had head-start, and had him outmatched and could lose him easily.

“Nearly there, sweetie,” she murmured, pulling Cassie closer.  A breath of relief escaped her. They were going to make it.

Then, a darker shadow rose up from below, not the acrobatic grace of Nightwing or Batgirl, but a relentless steam train tearing through the fog. Selina swore under her breath. Hope, sharp and brief, guttered in her chest.

“End of the line, Catwoman,” Jason’s voice called out from behind. “Batman’s right behind me.”

“Go,” she hissed, tugging Cassie forward as she turned to face Robin and Batman, but before Selina could react, the girl peeled away, moving with sudden, explosive speed. Her eyes cut across the rooftops, locking on the smaller figure closing in.

“Cassie!” Selina barked, too late.

Jason’s eyes went wide. “What the—”

The girl was a flash, and slipped past Jason’s guard. Each strike from her darting hands landed a sharp, surgical blow. In the next breath, she had used his own momentum against him, driving him stumbling to one knee with nothing more than a twist of his wrist and a sweep of his ankle.

Cassie stood over him, silent, her stance steady as stone. She didn’t press on with the attack, only planting herself between him and Selina, eyes narrowed in warning.

“Cassie,” Selina murmured, her voice soft but edged with urgency. “Come to me.”

The girl’s chest heaved once before she moved quickly to her mother’s side, shadowing her without hesitation. Together they stood at the edge, poised to leap to the next building.

A larger shadow swept down, cutting off their path. Batman landed, his cape stilling around him. His first glance went to Jason, who was down on one knee but alive. Jason staggered upright, chest heaving, but Batman’s hand shot out, a silent command to stay back.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you, Batman?” Selina spat, dragging Cassie behind her. “You just had to ruin it.”

“Selina, this isn’t safe,” Batman said, his voice low and firm. “She needs help, real help, not this.” He gestured to the open Gotham sky, the swirling storm, the jagged rooftops, the danger that never slept.

Cassie looked from Selina to Batman, her dark eyes unreadable, but the subtle tension in her small frame spoke volumes. She understood the conflict, the battle being waged over her.

“You think I don’t know what she needs?” Selina countered, stepping protectively in front of Cassie. “Gotham devours the weak, Batman. I’m teaching her to survive.”

“She’s a child, Selina,” Batman said, his voice roughening. “She’s been through too much. She deserves stability. A chance at something normal.”

“Normal?” Selina scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. “There’s no normal for people like us. Not in this city. You know that. She’s safer with me. I’ll protect her.”

“By bringing her on heists? By exposing her to criminals? To me?” he shot back, anger simmering beneath the mask. “You put her in danger, Selina. She’s not a sidekick. She’s not trained. She’s not ready.”

Batman closed the distance between them, his voice a low, unwavering rumble. “Selina, please. Let me help her. Let me get her to a safe place.”

Selina’s fury faltered, just for a heartbeat. She saw her girl, small under Batman’s looming figure, then at Robin, so young. A boy far too young to be fighting his war.

“He’s a kid just like her,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. “You’re trying to save her from a life you’ve already condemned him to. There is no safe place,” Selina hissed, her fists clenching. “You’d really do it, wouldn’t you? Throw me in prison, and drag her through the courts and dump her with strangers who don’t understand a thing about her. Or worse, you’ll train her, turn her into another child soldier in your war.”

Her gaze flicked to Cassie, who stood behind her, watching with unsettling intensity.

“Ma-ma,” Cassie uttered hoarsely as she tugged on Selina’s damp sleeve.

The word tore from Cassie’s throat, a raw and broken sound. It was the sound of a terrified child. She clung to Selina’s sleeve, her small frame trembling with a fury she didn’t know how to contain. Her eyes, full of fire, glared at Batman. She didn’t understand all the words they were using, but she understood enough. Enough to know that this man, with his menacing cape and unyielding voice, was trying to take away the only mother she had ever known.

Batman froze. The same word cut through him like a blade. For a moment, the mission fell apart, and all he saw was a child clinging to only person who had ever offered her safety. The girl wasn’t a case file to be processed or a piece in Selina’s game. The shame of that revelation was almost too much to bear.

Selina’s own heart twisted. The sound was a laying bare a truth she had been fighting to ignore. In that moment, she was forced to admit to herself that she was endangering Cassie. She had been teaching her to survive in the fire, but what if the fire was herself? The city had already marked Cassie, already tried to devour her, and by keeping her so close, Selina was only making it worse. She was teaching Cassie to fight instead of giving her a life where she didn’t have to.

Selina’s voice steadied. “I swear it. No more jobs. No more heists. Just let us go, Bruce. You’ll never see us again.”

Rain traced down the cowl, his cape still clung to him, heavy and dark. He studied her, measuring the truth in her voice, the cost of believing her. Then, finally, he nodded.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said slowly.

Selina’s hand tightened on Cassie’s shoulder. The girl’s glare lingered a final beat before she buried her face in Selina’s coat.

“Come on,” Selina whispered.

Together, they turned toward the adjacent rooftop, their silhouettes disappearing from sight.

Batman stood motionless, the rain dripping from his cape. Jason edged closer, his voice unsteady.

“Bruce… What now?”

Batman didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on the darkness where Selina and the girl had disappeared, the child’s raw plea echoing in his ears.

Chapter Text

Ten Years Later…

The Gotham Art Gallery buzzed with the quiet murmur of polite conversation and the clinking of champagne flutes. Soft, ambient music drifted through the air, providing a stark contrast to the vibrant, dynamic art adorning the walls. Each piece, a study of motion in life, captured fleeting moments of profound physical expression, rendered with a raw intensity that captivated every viewer.

Cassandra Kyle, now a poised and charismatic adult, stood by her favourite piece: a charcoal sketch of two cats mid-leap, gracefully dancing in the wind. She wore a tailored black dress, simple yet elegant, and her dark hair fell in a sleek cascade around her shoulders. She engaged politely with a few patrons, her learned social graces a convincing mask for the intense observation that still lay beneath. Her eyes, still as perceptive as ever, absorbed every detail of the room, every subtle shift in expression, every unspoken sentiment.

Gotham hadn’t seen her in a decade. She and Selina had disappeared after that rooftop night, no goodbyes, no rumours. Just gone. And now, out of nowhere, she returned not as a fugitive’s daughter but as a rising star in the art world. Her exhibit was the talk of the season.

Then the murmurs began, a ripple of whispers cut through the crowd like a blade: “He’s here.”

Cassandra didn’t need to turn to know who they were referring to. She felt that familiar weight in the air, like storm clouds rolling in. She clenched her glass just slightly tighter as Bruce Wayne entered with Barbara Gordon at his side. Bruce was older now, lines drawn deeper into his face, but still composed and controlled, the very image of Gotham’s eternal sentinel. Barbara, elegant and warm, gave a small smile to Cassandra as they approached.

“Miss Kyle,” Barbara greeted softly, with a warm genuine smile on her face. “Your art is truly incredible. They capture so much life. I particularly like the piece you did on the ballerina. I felt like she might leap off the canvas.”

Surprise flickered in Cassandra’s eyes before she smoothed it into a polite smile. “Thank you, Miss…”

“Gordon, Barbara Gordon, but you can call me Barbara.”

Bruce took a step forward. “Cassie—”

“It’s Cassandra Kyle, Mister Wayne,” she cut in, cool and sharp, as she turned to face him.

Bruce’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course, Cassandra.” He gestured to the walls. “Your work are truly remarkable. You’ve done well.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “They are.”

“Where’s Selina?” Bruce asked, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting to see her lurking in the shadows.

Cassandra winced, and tilted her head. “She’s in the back.” The answer was brief and dismissive, and simply walked away, leaving the pair with her paintings and guests.

Barbara raised her brows. “Well, sounds like she knows who you are,” Barbara said quietly, her eyes still following Cassandra’s path. “I remember she was so quiet. Barely making a sound, let alone a word.”

Bruce nodded slowly, his gaze on the paintings. “Now look at this,” he murmured, gesturing to the art. “She’s not just talking. She’s shouting without making a sound. Her arts are so expressive.”

“She’s become her own woman,” Barbara finished with a small, knowing smile.

Bruce stood rooted among the canvases, his gaze snagging on a piece in particular that he recognised. It was a depiction of their tense confrontation on the rooftop a decade ago. Two figures stood in opposition, their bodies arced with tension. For ten years, Bruce had replayed that night in his mind. The raw anger in Cassie’s eyes. The single, broken word: “Ma-ma”. It was a sound that had held him at a standstill, a desperate cry that had forced him to see the girl not as a case to be solved, but as a child with a home. Cassandra’s hand had transformed the raw emotion into something almost graceful. Their movements were frozen between furious debate and profound stillness. She had taken chaos and reimagined it as art.

Cassandra moved through the crowd, her polite composure intact. She slipped into a quiet alcove near the far wall, and the mask of elegance cracked. The sound of Bruce’s voice still clung to her, dredging up memories she had buried. She pressed her palms together, forcing the quiver out of her hands.

“He came,” a voice whispered suddenly at her ear, so close that Cassandra’s heart skipped, a brief flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise composed features.

Selina stood there, a shadow of dark velvet, impossibly elegant. She made no comment on Cassandra being startled, no acknowledgment of the trembling hands. Her eyes scanned the room with practiced, unreadable intensity. Her voice, when it came, was a low, conspiratorial purr, as if she and Cassandra were sharing the only secret that mattered in the gallery.

“He was never going to miss a chance to see the girl he thought he saved,” Selina continued as she gazed toward the gallery.

Without another word, the two slipped away from the main gallery, disappearing through a discreet door marked ‘Staff Only’, and into a small, well-lit back room. There, on two mannequins, hung two sleek, brand-new costumes. One, a refined version of Selina’s classic purple Catwoman suit, updated with subtle enhancements. The other was entirely new, a black suit designed for Cassandra, built for stealth. Its mask was sculpted to obscure her features while preserving full peripheral vision, as expressive as it was intimidating.

Selina’s eyes gleamed as she ran a gloved hand over the fabric. “He paid a small fortune for a portrait by Anthony Frederick Augustus Sandys,” she purred, a bitter laugh in her voice. “He loves that it’s called ‘Cassandra’. It was simply too perfect a target to pass up.”

Turning to hold Cassandra’s hands in her, Selina asked, “Are you ready for your debut, Cassie?”

Cassandra looked at her mother, and a mischievous smile curved her lips. Her decision hadn’t been made tonight, but years ago, on that rain-slicked rooftop. Had it not been for his insistence on separating them, her resolve to become Catwoman’s heir might not have come so easily. He had seen a child to be saved, a liability to be removed from the equation. He was wrong. Now, she was a woman fully capable of taking care of herself, and her mother.

“Tonight, two Catwomen return to Gotham, Mom,” Cassandra said, signing as she spoke.