IT WAS THE most sleep she'd gotten in a while, which would be great if not for the fact she'd slept from the morning until five in the afternoon. But no one in the Manor seemed even mildly concerned by that. Or by the fact she was still present. Callie felt like she'd overstayed her welcome, but she was still a bit worried about Jason. That, and Dick had left a few hours ago and she didn't want to ask Batman—she supposed he was Bruce Wayne now, to arrange for her to be brought back home.

The Manor was rather empty. Jason was still asleep in the ward downstairs. Bruce Wayne was... somewhere. Alfred was also somewhere. The boy she'd seen in the memory, Damian, he was gone too. She'd heard Dick talking about it.

So she found an empty corner and took out her laptop.

She still had a mystery to solve. Paris Abney.

She connected to her phone hotspot, and then combed through the information she'd gathered. No point revisiting the agency now. They had nothing else to offer her, and pushing further about Ms Abney would only seem suspicious.

It hadn't been too many days, but just because she felt like it, she organised all the information and sent it to Sylas Thorne. In case he was worried she wasn't doing much. Especially since he'd already had detectives on the case before, he could confirm what she would or point out inconsistencies.

In any other situation, she'd be going through social media accounts, looking through forums, trying to find any mentions of this name or anyone who matched the description. But that would take too long, and she didn't think Jason would take that long to recover. She chewed on her bottom lip.

It was, perhaps, time to try a new avenue. She had the resources, she might as well use it.

She gave Cecily Lange a call.

"Callie! I hear you were at the Manor."

"Still am," Callie admitted. "Have you heard about Jason?"

"I have. He'll be fine. All his vitals look normal on my end."

"You track his vitals?"

"I track all our vitals. Well, not yours. Like, the vigilantes. You get what I mean. Do you want me to track your vitals?"

"Might be nice, actually," Callie half-joked. At least that way, if something did happen to her, someone out there would notice. "Umm, I'm wondering if you could do me a favour."

"What kind?"

"Information. I thought that might be up your avenue."

"Anything to do with your blog?"

"Similar to that... you can think of it as my side hustle. I'm trying to find someone."

"I can definitely do that. Is this a personal thing? Or are you just doing a favour for someone else?"

"Not personal. More like... a commission."

"Right. Nothing illegal, I hope?"

"Not on my end. Suspected on the other end."

"Hmm. I mean, sure. Just send some basic information over. You have a name?"

"One that is most definitely fake. I have a general profile that I've deduced, background and the like. And can it please stay confidential?"

"Of course. Unless there's something inappropriate about the whole matter."

"Nothing like that, I promise. Thank you. We can grab dinner together sometime?"

"Definitely! This Saturday work for you?"

"I'll come back to you about that. But again, thank you."

"No worries. Just text me the stuff."

The call ended, and Callie leaned back in the chair, releasing a breath. Cases like these, ones that might extend out of Gotham were usually the most annoying. The best kinds of cases were the ones about infidelity. Those were the easiest to handle. Her powers could usually confirm the answer for her, and then it was just a question of locating sufficient evidence. But shit like this? Sometimes, she really was clueless. And more often than not, she'd end up having to admit defeat, though she usually did manage to at least dig something up.

She did as Cecily had instructed, practically copy and pasting the information she'd sent over to Sylas. Maybe, just maybe, if she ended up having to stay in Gotham for longer and had to continue this business, she ought to strike some kind of deal with Cecily. A portion of the commission fees, perhaps, for her help.

It would save her so much time. And make her work so much more efficient.

"I don't suppose I want to know what you're up to."

Callie jolted upwards, hand flying to her heart, head snapping towards the source of the voice. Bruce Wayne. Again. On the second floor of the library, staring down at her. "Oh my god, how long have you been there?"

"Around ten minutes."

"How did you get there?"

He didn't seem too amused. "There's a door on the second floor. How long are you planning on staying here?"

"I'm not precisely sure how I'm meant to leave."

"I can arrange for Alfred to drive you back home."

"That would be quite nice, thank you." Callie stood. "Eavesdropping is quite rude."

"I don't trust you." His voice was hard. "You might not be purposefully malicious—I trust Oliver and Dinah enough for that, but that doesn't mean your presence here is good. This isn't your world, Miss Wan. You can get out of it while you still can."

"I thought I'd made my point clear this morning, but apparently not. I'm not going anywhere until Swinton is suitably punished."

"Your blog work is impressive."

Callie blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. "Am I supposed to say thank you?"

"I've helped you enforce it a bit over the past year. Added some firewalls and the like. You'd be alarmed at the amount of people trying to locate your IP, find out your identity. You have no clue how much danger you've put yourself in. If not for me, you'd be long dead."

Callie flexed her jaw. As much as she wanted to believe he was lying, it didn't look like it. And sometimes, she herself was surprised she could continue to work the way she did. Surely, at least someone must have come knocking on her door by now, threatening or directly murdering her.

"Miss Wan, you've been surviving off pure luck. How long is that going to continue?"

"Jason has my back."

Bruce's voice hardened. "He's only just got his own life back on track. He has himself to look out for, he cannot always be looking out for you as well. Sooner or later, you'll be by yourself."

"I've lived by myself for a long time," Callie told him quietly. "I'm not unused to loneliness. I have no family left, at least none that would accept me. Oliver and Dinah were never close to me. Neither understood me, and I didn't understand them. And I haven't seen either of them in years. Thank you for keeping me safe the past year. But nothing is going to convince me from this path."

"Your sister would have wanted you to live. Peacefully."

"My sister is not alive. And no one cares. I'm just one of many, Mr Wayne. In this world, I'm utterly replaceable. If I perish in this path for vengeance, it does not matter. I have nothing to lose in the first place. The only thing keeping me going is my wish for justice to be served." She raised her head. "Surely, you must understand that."

And with that, he finally seemed to get it. It seemed inaccurate to say understanding dawned in his features, because there was barely a twitch in his expression. His eyes narrowed by the slightest. "You care nothing for your own safety."

"I don't have a death wish," she offered. "But trying to convince me away from this path through pointing out the dangers to my safety will be futile, Mr Wayne. How long will Jason take to make a full recovery?"

"He'll be on his feet again by tomorrow. A full recovery might take longer." He paused. "He mentioned a visit to Star City."

"Yes. Whenever he's ready for such a trip."

"Would you wish to visit Oliver and Dinah?"

"No. Maybe Roy. I'd quite like to see Roy again." Her eyes fluttered shut as she remembered baby Lian again. Fucking hell.

"I'll arrange a flight," Bruce told her. "Not the Batplane. I don't know what Jason told you."

She pulled a face. "Pity. but whatever. Please, Mr Wayne, would you mind arranging my journey home? I think I've quite overstayed my welcome."

The look at his face said, I was worried you hadn't realised that yet.

—

HOME FELT STRANGE after the past twenty-four hours. She took out the stuff from her backpack, took a nice, long steamy shower, put on a face mask and headed into the kitchen to make herself a light dinner.

And then her phone rang.

Jason.

She put him on speaker. "Hello? Everything alright?"

"Yeah." Well, he sounded fine at any rate. "Just bored out of my mind."

"Ah, so you decided to come bother me instead. Don't mind the noise, I'm just making food."

"I was talking to Bruce earlier." Now he sounded a bit more troubled. "I just... I just wanted you to know I would care if you got hurt."

"I think I exaggerated a little in my conversation with him. You don't need to take it seriously. He was just getting on my nerves." On that note, she placed the slices of beef short ribs she'd cut and marinated into her frying pan, releasing a sizzling sound. After a few seconds, she flipped it with her chopsticks.

"You sure about that?" he asked, sounding a little exasperated. "Because I was talking just like you when I'd first come back to life, and I sure as hell meant every word of it."

"I don't... I don't want to die. Or get hurt. It's just that if it does happen, not a lot of people are going to be upset about it, so it feels like it's alright." Her voice was a little quieter now. "I'm not an idiot. I know it's a miracle I've been alive for this long." And her earlier conversation with Bruce, well, she was lucky. She hated knowing that he'd likely been keeping tabs on her since the moment she'd stepped foot into Gotham, but was she really surprised? She was a name to flag. Sister to a vigilante, ward of two heroes. Someone who, really, should be running as far away from Gotham as possible, not headfirst towards it.

And he hadn't interfered until now. Why?

"In the meantime, you keep working on media opinions regarding the Swintons."

"I will." That was the first thing she did after dinner. More, more and more. She was planning on a whole piece about Rudolph Swinton. One that gathered all allegations about him until now. She wanted as much media attention on them as possible. A few other news outlets had already adopted her tone of inquiry towards Rudolph's lack of appearance.

Was he really gone for good? Is there more behind the scenes? Were the allegations true?

It was time for her to pull her own weight. She'd felt completely useless through the entire capture of Scarecrow. He probably didn't even know the sister of Spiritbird was involved at all. And perhaps it was better that way, in case people started looking into their past. In case people started digging around about identities. She had the advantage of being unknown right now, and she didn't want to ruin it.

"I think I'll be ready for the trip by this weekend."

"Already?" she asked, raising a brow. "You sure you don't want some extra time off?"

"The anniversary celebration is in two months. We don't have much time left."

"Right." She flexed her jaw. "I'll start packing, then. Text me the details. And... maybe contact Roy?"

"If he's in the city, we'll definitely meet up."

"Where will we live?"

"Bruce has property in Star. I'm sure we can convince him to lend us an apartment for a few days. If not, we can book ourselves into a hotel."

"A hotel is simpler, I think," she sighed. "No need to go through that trouble. We're not staying for too long anyways. Like you said... our best chance to get Swinton back is in two months."

She placed her beef short ribs onto the bowl of rice she'd already prepared, adding more oil in the pan to start cooking her spinach. Simple, simple meal tonight. She did not have the appetite nor the energy for anything more.

"What are you cooking?"

"I've already finished making rice with lightly salted beef short ribs. I'm now making spinach. Should I add a hot spring egg?"

"More nutrients."

"Right. I'll do that then. Let me boil some water."

"Damn, you're making me hungry."

"Surely you can just ask for food."

"True. But Alfred usually serves dinner at seven, and I don't want him to have to cook something separate just for me. It's just three of us in tonight anyways."

"How many of you are there usually?"

"Bruce, Damian and Alfred are the only ones who live here on a permanent basis."

"Damian's the son?"

"Did you not meet him?"

"No. I saw him in a memory, though. Very murky picture of his face. I think I've seen him in some tabloids before. Mixed, I think? I feel like I see a little bit of Chinese in there."

"Chinese and Arabic on his mum's side, I think," Jason murmured. "Are you a good cook?"

"Good enough to survive," she huffed. "Not exactly an expert. But Chinese food is fucking expensive in the UK, and I'm not prepared to eat whatever the hell you people eat every day all the time."

"Didn't you grow up in America?"

"My parents cooked. And after that, Cyrene and I split the work between us. I'm not as crazy against western food as some of my peers, but I definitely lean more towards Asian cuisine." She poured boiled and cool water into a bowl in the correct proportion before dropping a raw egg in, checking the time. Ten minutes before taking that out. Maybe a nice drink to pass the time? She had orange juice in her fridge somewhere.

"I think she cooked for me and Roy once," he said, sounding rather wistful. "It was after a mission. A bowl of noodles, I think, with some pork and pak choi."

Callie snorted. "I remember that. You guys made such a ruckus in the living room that night you woke me up. I had a Maths test the other day. You're lucky I still did well, or I would have come for you and Roy's head."

"Not Cyrene's?"

"She's never loud. Always you two."

He laughed on the other side of the phone, but then turned a lot more quiet. "I miss her."

"I miss her too."

Cyrene was more than a sister. She was a guardian, a bastion for her to rely on, her rock and anchor. In the days after losing her parents, when Callie had no idea what she was meant to do or think, it was Cyrene who helped her find her way, even though her older sister was suffering right alongside her. It was Cyrene who was forced to grow up within a day, to be a parent to her younger sister. And for years Cyrene succeeded in shielding Callie from what she shouldn't have been exposed to at her age. Cyrene shouldered it all alone. By herself.

Her sister was a great woman. But sometimes, Callie wondered whether she'd still be alive had Cyrene been a little more selfish.

She wanted Cyrene to be here with her. Laughing. Helping her prepare the food. Messing up her hair and telling her everything was going to be okay, that the past few years had been a bad nightmare. Some nights, when Callie finally managed to go to sleep, she wanted to wake up in their Star City apartment. Roy and Jason's boisterous laughter down the corridor, Cyrene trying to shush them because she knew Callie was trying to sleep. And some nights, when it got unbearable, she'd storm out in her pyjamas and tell the boys to quiet the fuck down before she threw something at them. And Cyrene would send them a dirty look before ushering her back into bed, lest she caught a cold from walking around in her pyjamas.

But those days were long past now.

She wasn't fourteen or fifteen or sixteen anymore. There was no sister to block the winds for her, to check on her bruises after a hard day of fencing. No one to tutor her in the Maths she didn't know how to do.

No one to go back home to, except the ghosts in her head and the suffocating sense of disappointment. And loneliness.

"Callie?"

It was then she realised Jason had been talking all this time, and she'd ignored him completely. "Sorry. I was in my head. What were you saying?"

"It's fine, don't worry about it." A pause. "I'll send you the arrangements. Just get ready."

"Jason?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I really, really appreciate it. I know I wasn't the nicest at the start, but... I was selfish. I've always been the more selfish one, you know. And I didn't see that everyone around me was hurting too. Don't get me wrong, I'm still mad neither of them were suitably punished, but it was incorrect of me to blame it all on you. You did your best."

He was silent for a really long time. She took a sip of her orange juice straight from the bottle.

"You have nothing to apologise for." His voice sounded a little hoarse. "I did fail her. And you. And you're not selfish. If you were selfish, you'd have never come back for her. You'd have run away a long time ago and never turned back."

"I'm not a hero like her. And I never will be. I don't want to save people, I just... I just want to make sure the people I care about are alright. And that I can live my life in peace."

"And that doesn't make you selfish. It just makes you human."

"Thank you."

"I'm the one who should be saying that. Have a good evening, Callie."

And then he ended the call. And she was left standing there, orange juice carton still in hand, wondering why she still felt so empty.

she's softening up a bit!!!!!