WHILE SHE DIDN'T get much sleep, the bit that she got was uncharacteristically good. Perhaps it was relief, knowing they had a strong trail on Scarecrow, that he'd likely be locked up soon. The sense of finally being able to do something, knowing that things were happening.

Albeit, she felt useless. Even though she knew Scarecrow was not the type of villain she could handle. That she'd likely have better luck with Rudolph Swinton, fighting the war of reputation and information.

But she felt completely helpless there as well half the time.

Either way—she spent most of the night investigating the Thorne necklace. She'd gone through databases and databases of names, trying to locate this caretaker.

She hadn't found anyone who completely fit her description just yet. But people change in looks, so she probably just had to match the photo up again with all the profile pictures she'd located. It was time consuming, but not impossible.

Callie glanced at her phone as she landed her feet on the ground. It was from Jason, not long after she'd fallen asleep.

Text me when you're awake.

That either meant he had more information to tell her (which he'd kept from her last night), or he had plans for today. Privately, she hoped it was the latter.

She wanted a little something to do. Days were getting monotonous and kept dragging on. Meeting Cecily was nice yesterday. The woman was a bit eccentric, a bit in her own world, but it was oddly satisfying to have a conversation with someone who saw the work she'd done, what she'd built over the past few years, and admired it completely. And understood it completely.

Jason wasn't wrong to say she was lonely. She was lonely. She just hated that he'd chosen to point it out.

So she sent him a text back. Because she was lonely, and his company was better than no company.

i'm up.

He didn't reply immediately. She hadn't expected him to. He'd definitely slept later than she had the night before. Callie instead climbed out of her bed and headed to the bathroom.

She grimaced as she noted that she'd used up her toner, tossing the empty package in the trash before turning to stare at herself in the mirror. Tugging her fingers through her dark, straight hair, she noted the exhaustion that was still prevalent despite having just gotten up.

Then she made plans for today as she started combing through her hair. If Jason replied soon with something she had to do today, she'd do that. If not, it might be worth it to start paying a few people a visit. Like the agency that the caretaker had been hired from. Albeit, it was a rather prestigious one, so she wasn't sure how well they'd take her barging in and requesting information about an employee.

She might have to go at it another way.

She drummed her fingers against the counter. Requesting an appointment to look at prospective caregivers for an elderly might be a good way to go at it. Albeit, she'd need to make a good cover story.

She searched up the agency as she strolled back into her bedroom. It was a weekend and they were closed. Fine. If Jason didn't have something for her to do, she'd need to find a new avenue of investigation.

Or she could work on her blog.

No message from Jason yet. She made herself a yoghurt bowl and sat down in front of her laptop.

She paused at her news page.

Swinton Industries signs new deal, begins preparation for sixtieth anniversary.

Sixtieth anniversary. Surely, that meant Rudolph Swinton would at least return temporarily?

She skimmed through the article. No mentions of the youngest son.

Then she'd be the one to start mentioning it.

A blog post. Nothing serious. Just commenting on the upcoming anniversary, what Swinton Industries had and hadn't done for Gotham and its people in the last sixty years. And a paragraph near the end:

With such a large event, it begs the question: a certain black sheep has been living away from the flock for the past five years. Some have commented on Rudolph Swinton's presence in the Mediterranean as a soft exile, a ploy to get him away from the centre of power to avoid trouble. Will he be recalled for such a momentous occasion? Or will the youngest Swinton son continue languishing on his own?

And then investing in a few bots and new accounts. Heading to gossip websites and blogs, social media, and posing the same question: Is Rudolph Swinton going to return?

She tried her best to make it look organic. Hopefully, other people will notice and pick it up. If not, she'll just have to push it further. Assuming the Swintons hadn't given up on Rudolph altogether, this ought to force them into recalling him for the celebrations.

And if he was in Gotham... then everything would be much easier for her.

Callie Wan shut her eyes and thought about murder. It was strangely refreshing, but so far, unrealistic. Which was unfortunate. She dearly wanted to murder Rudolph Swinton. But she would, sadly, have to try every legal manoeuvre there was before trying something like that. She had too much to lose.

She'd likely be arrested, for one thing. Too many people knew she had the motive. And she had no doubt that Batman would see her arrested if she went through with her plan. Oliver and Dinah might let her off the hook—they'd both killed in the past.

Would Jason help her hide it? Help her get away? He said he wouldn't stop her from killing Swinton. What about after she'd killed him?

What would he think of her if she did end up in jail, arrested for murdering her sister's killer? Would he secretly admire her courage? Or would he hate her?

Why did she care what he thought about her?

Callie let out a gentle hiss. This was one of the downsides of this... partnership. She'd cut herself off from the rest of the world for so long she was latching onto any human connection she could. Even if it was Jason Todd. These days, it was getting difficult for her to remember why she'd avoided him for all these years, why she'd been so hostile.

Just a couple weeks since their reunion, and the thought of him thinking poorly of her, or even losing him... It was becoming painful.

She opened her eyes. Her phone screen lit up with a notification.

She stifled her disappointment when she realised it was just her social media. And she decided not to dwell on that feeling for too long, because it was opening a can of worms she wanted nothing to do with.

It was the loneliness. Perhaps she didn't hate him anymore, perhaps she thought of him as a firm ally. They weren't friends, and she knew he wasn't completely transparent with her about everything, but he wasn't working against her.

It was just nice having someone to talk to every day. Something to look forward to every time she woke up. Knowing she wasn't just a single girl in this big world that had forgotten about her (or had she let them forget about her, a speck in the distance?), knowing that someone would notice if she disappeared and never returned.

Humans were social creatures. And Callie Wan, who'd done her best to strive in isolation for the past few years, knew that better than most. Even the most secluded of introverts would eventually crave some human interaction.

It was like a drug. And Jason Todd arrived into her world with a bang, completely unexpected, and now she was getting attached.

Her phone screen lit up again. This time, it was Jason.

Free tonight?

She didn't reply immediately. Didn't want it to be so obvious to him that she had been waiting for his message. She stared down and played with her fingers for a few moments. She wasn't wearing her gloves because she already knew the memories she'd get from each piece of item within her household. There was nothing new to learn.

Sometimes, it still caught her off-guard. When she laid her hand on a certain item and her own memories came back to her. Sleepless nights before the laptop when she touched her mug. Memories of tears that wouldn't stop when she touched her shower head.

She picked up her phone.

what's the plan

Instead of replying through text, her phone began ringing, and she answered the call with a small frown. Bringing the device up to her ears, she asked warily, "Hello?"

"We're hitting Scarecrow tonight," Jason's voice came in a hushed whisper. "We got his base down, I think. And we've already started scouting."

"Okay." She paused. "Is there anything I should be doing to help?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to head to my base tonight. I'll be with Nightwing, but I can have you connected to our comms. I thought... you might like to be involved in some way. I won't bring you to the base, of course, but if you'd like—"

"I'd love that." She answered a bit too quickly. But the truth was that she was touched. Touched that he'd even considered this. She'd thought that he'd just go and do it all on his own. That she'd be told afterwards. "I'd absolutely love that. What time?"

"I'll pick you up at nine. We're probably not going to strike until midnight, but well, you don't get much sleep anyways, do you? I'll set you up with some food and the like at my place. And you can give us a hand anyways. Keep an eye out on nearby security cameras and the like. I think you can do that."

"I can."

"But yeah. I'll stop by yours at nine. Maybe... make yourself comfortable. Just in case you end up having to spend the night at my base."

"I understand." She knew how long these things could last. And if anything went wrongly, Jason might not be in any state to bring her back home. She prayed that wouldn't happen. "Nine. Right. Thank you."

He seemed a bit nonplussed by her attitude, but he didn't voice his observation. "Maybe get some rest early if you want, in case you decide you're too sleep deprived after all. See you then."

There would be no rest. She had from eleven o'clock until nine o'clock tonight to do whatever she wanted. It was time to pay a visit to a caregiving agency. Sylas Thorne hadn't given her a time limit of how quickly he wanted his commission done, but she wasn't the type to dawdle. She wanted to solve the case as quickly as possible and move on.

Callie got up to change.

She needed to look fairly wealthy. She shut her eyes and thought of her rich friends in London. She did have a few more expensive pieces, mostly from those old days when she lived with Oliver and Dinah. After a long moment, she opted for a Burberry sweater, matching it with a pair of high-rise jeans.

She only pulled on the inner, near-invisible layer of her gloves, laying the fishnets on the table. Simple makeup, combed her hair, put on a pearl necklace and a pair of hoop earrings.

She could pass off as the granddaughter of some rich man. Probably.

Vaughan Agency specialised in highly trained and professional caretakers for the wealthy of Gotham City. They had a fairly good reputation, and a search online revealed mostly positive reviews. Which made the fact one of their employees had taken off with a prized family heirloom rather strange. With an agency like this, surely the Thornes would have reported it? And surely the agency must have had a way to contact their wayward employee?

But she'd texted Sylas Thorne the night before, and he'd replied quickly—it had been past midnight, which caused her to raise eyebrows about his sleep schedule, but who was she to talk? The Thornes had never reported it to the agency. Never even mentioned it. Which made her job slightly easier, but also raised suspicions.

Why not mention it to the agency? Unless they were trying to hide something. Or were they embarrassed? That something so valuable had been taken from right under their noses, with the unwitting consent of one of their own?

Pride was always a fickle thing. Sometimes it got into the way of important business.

Is that why you never asked for help on your mission for vengeance? Pride?

Callie told her brain to shut up. It was not being helpful in the slightest.

She went downstairs to hail a cab. Half an hour later she stood below an office building, one brow raised as she silently surveyed through the glass.

Vaughan Agency was on the third floor. She got onto the escalator and headed up.

The man at the reception offered her a smile as she stepped through the doors. "Hello and welcome to Vaughan's Agency. How may we help you today? Do you have an appointment?"

Callie tilted her head. "Afraid not. I just happened to be passing by the area and wanted to make a few inquiries. My grandfather, you see, isn't in much of a state to take care of himself, though my parents and I have mostly made do. But I'm getting a new job soon, so I have to move out of the city, so we were thinking about getting a part-time caretaker for my grandfather?"

"Of course. Please, take a seat, I'll see if anyone's free to speak to you right now, though I'm afraid you'll likely need an appointment for something more extensive."

"Of course," Callie replied with an understanding nod.

She sat down at the sofa the receptionist motioned to, allowing her pinky finger to skim the fabric of the seat. Instantly, flashes of memory entered her head—a middle-aged couple had sat here a while before her, not being quite happy with each other but needing to put up a front. And before that, one of the receptionists' colleagues had sat where she sat now, chatting to the receptionist while holding a cup of coffee.

Nothing particularly interesting. Callie placed her hands on her lap. It would have been far too long for her to be able to pick up anything interesting with her powers. She would have to rely on more old-fashioned methods.

She was there for five minutes before a woman walked out and led her to a small office. The woman introduced herself as Vanessa Gilton. She offered her hand, and Callie took it. "Carla Qian," she lied.

She didn't pick up anything particularly interesting from the fleeting moment her pinky met Vanessa's skin. Just an ordinary agent. She seemed to be a little bit bored.

Callie sat, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, observing her environment. It was a nice little place, neat and tidy. A window overlooked the front of the street.

She crossed her legs and turned her attention back to Vanessa, offering a friendly smile on her face. "I just wanted to ask a few questions, if you don't mind? I think I knew one of the caretakers under your employment some year back. They worked for my friend for a while and I thought they were quite good."

Vanessa tilted her head. "May I first inquire about your situation? And your requirements?"

"My grandfather. We require a part-time caretaker for him. He's mentally still quite astute, but he can't take care of himself the way he used to."

"Do you remember the name of the caretaker in our employment?" Vanessa asked, tilting her head.

Callie pulled a face. "I'm afraid not. I have vague memories of what she looks like, though... And I probably have a picture of her on my phone somewhere. Blonde hair, tanned skin, in her fifties?"

"May I inquire the name of your friend, then?"

"Sylas Thorne. I think he hired her for his grandmother?"

Vanessa blinked. "Sylas Thorne? Like, those Thornes?"

"Yes." Callie allowed a bit of smugness to show through. The kind of emotion one might show if they were acquainted with the heir to one of the biggest enterprises in the city, and potentially even the country. "Ooh, maybe you have her on your records somewhere? I'd quite like to get her if possible, but I'm fine with other people too."

"Does Mr Thorne not remember her name?"

"I don't think he saw her very often. He's a busy man," Callie said apologetically. "I tried asking, but he'd forgotten as well."

It was a fairly flimsy excuse. But someone like Vanessa Gilton wasn't going to think too deep. She didn't care enough, and probably wasn't paid enough to care that much. Considering Callie's lack of appointment, Vanessa would probably much prefer to be doing anything else but talking to her anyways.

"I'll see if I can pull anything up. Two years wasn't that long ago."

Callie gave a nod of appreciation and leaned back, looking bored, playing her part.

She'd gotten good at acting in the past few years. Effortlessly fading into different roles, showing people what they wanted to see. She'd spent the past few years observing humanity instead of participating in it.

"Ah. Here we go... The Thornes. Yes. A caretaker for Mrs Thorne. Paris Abney?" A few more clicks. "I'm afraid she's left our service for some time... actually, her last work for us was with Mrs Thorne."

"Oh." Callie looked disappointed. "Well, is there anyone like her? She did a really good job from what I saw. Or, well, would it be possible to convince her to return? Do you have a way to contact her?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential information," Vanessa said, sounding apologetic but not looking very much like that.

This wasn't going anywhere. Everything she'd learnt from Vanessa, she'd either already knew or guessed. Paris Abney. Most likely a fake name, or one that's been long abandoned. Had Ms Abney planned this act of thievery beforehand? Was she someone who'd done this before regularly? Or was this a one-off incident, after which she decided to disappear from the face of the earth and relish in her ill-founded gains?

"Surely there has to be someone with similar qualifications to her," Callie said, irritated. "Education, background, skillset..."

"Certainly." Vanessa paused. "Miss Qian, would you mind terribly if we continue this with an appointment at a future date?"

"I understand if you're busy, but really, it can't take that long to just throw a few resumes at me. If I have a general idea of what I'm looking at and the price, I can return and discuss this with my parents before making a proper appointment." Callie crossed her arms. "If you have something else to do, I'm sure one of your colleagues can take over. I'm not terribly picky."

Vanessa lowered her head. "Of course. Please, just for a moment, I'll show you a few of our employees."

"With similar backgrounds," Callie stressed.

"Of course."

Half an hour later, Callie walked out of the office building with a much firmer idea of Paris Abney's background. Or at least, the one she'd presented to the agency.

She tried to link it up with the things she already knew: fifties, blonde hair, tanned skin. Now she knew that Paris Abney was likely of a British background, considering how all five resumes she'd been shown were of people from western Europe. Abney was a distinctly British surname anyways. Likely a nurse—four out of the five had medical experience, mostly in nursing, and the one that hadn't was still a trained first-aider.

Married. All five of the women she'd been shown were married, though she'd already suspected that. It looked like Paris Abney was wearing a wedding ring in the picture she'd been shown, though it was quite blurry.

All little things. But not enough. But it was smart. Better than nothing. With those things narrowed down, she could start narrowing down her search. She was worried Abney might actually have left America altogether, though, especially since it was looking like she was a foreigner.

Would be nice if she could hack the agency's system.

Technically, she knew the people who could do it. There were people she could pay to do it, of course, but...

There was Cecily.

Would Cecily tell Jason?

Would Cecily even agree? Callie had nothing to give her in return.

Callie stuck her hands in her pockets and signed. She'd try doing her own investigation first. But if that didn't work... it might be time to ask for some help.

A few weeks ago, she'd have gone down this path alone to the end. But now? It was tantalising, the realisation that she could ask for help if she wanted to.

She wasn't sure why she wasn't turning to Jason for assistance. He'd give it, likely, out of pure guilt. But at the same time...

He'd probably try to convince her to stop. Find a proper job. It would be very hypocritical of him, but he'd convince himself it was for her own good.

So she would not tell him. She would keep one more thing a secret from him. 

ik it's sloooooow but i promise it starts picking up soon