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Jason stalked down the hallway. The Titans were all on missions around the globe, leaving a little birdie all for him.
The dark hall was lit only by the red emergency lights above Jason. Jason hadn’t bothered to shut off the electricity, so the Replacement must be in his room.
Jason grinned under his helmet. Robin was going to pay for all of Bruce’s mistakes. He was going to experience the same pain Jason did while waiting in that wretched warehouse. Talia had described Robin as a genius, fast and quick not just in body.
But he wouldn’t be a match for Jason. He had honed his body from the moment he emerged from the Pit. Even now, his vision began to green over.
He stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath, and slammed it open.
“Pretender—”
“Just let me call my dad!” yelled the birdie. Jason froze.
Robin, Timothy Drake, sat on his bed, phone in front of him. He looked . . . oddly at ease, considering Jason was here to torture him.
Jason tilted his head. “What?”
“Listen, I’m sorry,” the Replacement blurted. “I knew you were coming and I already said all my goodbyes to everyone who’s not my parents. It’s—I understand if you say no, I want to call them. Please.”
Jason blinked. The little birdie seemed adamant to call his family, the least he could do was let him.
Jason said nothing, taking a step forward and locking the door behind him. Jason pulled out his gun. “Put them on speaker,” he drawled. “Any funny business and I shoot.” The Pretender gulped, but smiled softly and pressed call.
The phone rang. It went to voicemail.
The Replacement, Tim, smiled sheepishly. “I . . . don’t suppose you’d let me call my mom?”
Jason stayed silent.
Tim sighed and opened another contact, rambling as he did. “ . . .If she picks up. If not, I’ll just—leave a quick voicemail. If that’s okay.”
The rage that had been building within him on his way here was practically dissolved. So far, everything Talia had told him about the new Robin had been proven false. He was just a kid.
“It’s . . . fine,” Jason murmured.
The phone rang again. For a moment, Jason thought Tim’s mother wouldn’t answer either. Then—“Timothy Jackson Drake, this better be an emergency.” The anger and venom in her voice almost caused the Pit to rise up again.
Tim didn’t meet Jason’s narrowed gaze. He apologized to his mother, barely able to get a word in as she went on about some “important meeting.”
“I understand, Mother, it’s just—” Tim paused. “It’s been a while since we’ve last spoken and I wanted to say hello.”
“That’s all?” the woman scoffed.
“That’s . . . all. Yes.”
“Goodbye, Timothy.”
“Goodbye Mom,” Janet Drake hung up. “Love you.”
Tim’s shoulders slumped. He turned toward Jason. “All right, how do you want to do this?”
Jason blinked back tears he hadn’t realized had formed. Tim stared up at him with big, blue eyes, not dressed for battle, not quivering in fear. He looked ready to go to sleep. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
He sat slowly on the end of the bed. Why would the League tell him lies? He knew not to trust them, but on this he had been assured. Timothy Drake was just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t deserve what Jason had planned.
“Why do you look so sad?” Jason looked up and met Tim’s confused gaze.
“Nothing,” Jason replied, “I just . . . think I got bad intel.”
Tim nodded with a hum. “Bad intel?”
Jason chuckled. “About you.” Jason shook his head. “You’re just a kid.”
Tim had the nerve to mumble he wasn’t a kid. As if fifteen wasn’t a teenager.
They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, having a semi-civil conversation, considering Jason’s original plan for the baby bird.
Great, now I’m fond of him. Dick is gonna love this.