هناك حزنٌ في قلبها لا يُمكن للآخرين فهمه، ولا حتى هي تستطيع تفسيره
There is a sadness in her heart that others cannot understand, and even she cannot explain

THAT MAN had wrecked her day, not that it had started off great anyway.

But fuck him, all the same.

She couldn't understand why she felt even a flicker of empathy for someone who'd taken part in the slaughter of her people.

Whatever.

Fuck him and everyone who backed those so-called "wars."

She went to the grocery store, reminding herself she actually needed real food instead of more takeout. It wasn't that she hated cooking or baking; she loved it, honestly. But lately, she couldn't find the comfort in it she once did.

Once she'd finished her quick run to the nearest market, she headed straight back to her apartment without a second to spare. She needed a nap, desperately. Four hours of sleep last night ( especially a night spent as the Wraith ) hadn't even come close to enough.

She walked slowly through the familiar streets, a bag of groceries in each hand, letting the sounds and scents of the neighborhood settle over her like an old, worn coat. Children's laughter echoed down the alley, and mothers leaned over balconies, chatting as they clipped laundry to drying lines.

The air was thick with a blend of fresh bread and something sharper ; weed, most likely. Odd, yet somehow comforting; in Gotham, this strange mix was almost homey.

Near the stairs of her building, a group of teenagers lounged, passing a vape between them. They looked up as she approached, and one of them ( a lanky boy with a worn Gotham Knights basketball shirt and a red bandana tied around his head ) raised a hand in greeting.

"Mornin', Doc!" he called out, a smirk playing on his face. "How's it goin'? Any luck findin' that psycho yet, or what?"

She adjusted the weight of her bags, returning the smile with a slight nod. "Not yet, Freddy," she replied,  tone casual but clearly laced with the fatigue of long nights and endless files. "But soon, I hope."

"Better hurry up then — city's gettin' crazier every day," another boy chimed in, blowing a lazy ring of vape smoke into the crisp morning air.

She paused on the steps, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "And you all should be doing your homework instead of hanging around here like old men," she teased, her voice light but with a hint of a lecture.

They laughed, trading looks. Freddy shrugged, his grin widening. "What's the point, Doc? We're just gonna end up in some dead-end job anyway — just like everybody else around here." He made a sweeping gesture at the cracked sidewalks and peeling walls around them.

She raised a brow, lifting her chin with mock pride as she shifted the grocery bags. "Hey, I'm a doctor," she pointed out, nudging open the building's heavy door. "Not everybody's doomed."

Freddy laughed, waving her off. "Yeah, well, you don't count! You're like... the exception around here." Another boy joined in, "Bet you were one of those kids who had their act together in, like, kindergarten."

She chuckled, pushing through the door. "Only sometimes. I didn't even speak English back then!" She held the door for a moment, looking back at them with a more serious expression. "But listen up, boys. School matters. Don't let it slip ... you'll regret it."

They shifted a little, Freddy glancing down, scratching his neck. "Yeah... maybe."

She nodded, a small smile softening her tone. "And don't make me have to bail you out someday."

Their laughter trailed off, and for a moment, an unusual silence settled over the group. Freddy gave her a quick, sheepish nod, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, Doc. We hear ya'."

With a final look, she let the door swing shut and stepped into the dim, familiar lobby.

The scent of old wood, damp plaster, and faint traces of whatever the building's pipes had carried over the years wrapped around her like a worn-in blanket. She shifted her bags to one arm and fumbled for her keys, her gaze settling on the row of mailboxes near the stairs.

As she sorted through the usual mix of bills and coupons, her mind drifted to the boys outside. In some ways, they reminded her of her younger self — dreaming of escape, uncertain of what lay beyond, yet feeling the weight of the city pressing down on them. She couldn't help but hope that a few words here and there might nudge them in the right direction.

Then, amidst the mundane stack of letters, her fingers brushed against something different—a red envelope.

Her heart raced as she pulled it out, feeling a flutter of anticipation. It had been a while since she'd received anything from them.

The doctor turned the envelope over and noted the wax seal, stamped with an emblem of two golden eagles, an "R" nestled between them, crowned in regal splendor.

She traced the seal with her thumb, curiosity piquing her thoughts.

What could they possibly want?

Unable to contain her impatience, she grabbed her key and carefully opened the envelope.

As she did, a rich, familiar scent wafted out : roses, sweet and inviting.

It was the scent of her madraya, ummi, mama — whatever name she had called her. That fragrance had always felt so precise, so unmistakable, like a whisper of love lingering in the air.

The scent enveloped her in warmth and nostalgia, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket on a chilly night. She brought the paper close to her nose, inhaling deeply, and was instantly transported back to moments long forgotten, bittersweet and tender.

But the scent of those roses was also poison to her already shattered and fragile heart, stirring feelings of love, tragedy, and unbearable loss. It whispered to her of all that had slipped through her fingers ( moments, memories, and people ) leaving only echoes behind, haunting reminders of what once was.

With trembling fingers, she opened the thick, luxurious stationery, her heart pounding in her chest as the elegant, unmistakably Russian handwriting greeted her.

Moya dorogaya Maryam,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been far too long since we last exchanged words. For us, life continues as it always has, marked by the relentless rhythm of the seasons. The weather in Norfolk is, as usual, dull and gray, though I find it perfect for hunting.

Genevieve sends her warmest regards. She is beside me as I write, and she insists on saying hello to you, your siblings, and your dear aunts. You would be pleased to know that she's taken up gardening with a fervor, filling our home with blooms that remind us of you.

And then there's my son, Nikolai. You must have heard enough about him over the years, yet he's still full of surprises. He now resides in London with his wife, Elizaveta. The city feels far too chaotic and sprawling for my liking, but I suppose it keeps life interesting. Elizaveta is a force to be reckoned with, keeping Nikolai on his toes—she's a saint in that regard. You know how she is, always bustling about, ensuring everything is in order. She reminds me so much of you in that way, always juggling a million things at once.

But the reason I pen this letter today is to share wonderful news about my darling Annabelle. We are delighted to invite you and your family to her wedding, which will be held at the manor next summer. It promises to be an extravagant affair, filled with laughter and cherished memories.

I look forward to seeing you and your sisters there, my dear Maryam.

The letter was signed simply, A. Petrovich.

Uncle Andrei.

Maryam's chest tightened, a bittersweet mix of warmth and unease curling in her gut. It had been years — so many years that she could barely remember his face. She could still imagine her aunts and sisters gathering around once they heard, their voices dropping into whispers, each taking turns to inspect the red envelope.

A letter from Andrei was like a rare comet passing through their lives, with everyone silently guessing what it meant.

Just as Maryam let out a breath, a hand clapped down on her shoulder, and she jolted, almost dropping the letter.

Standing there was Vera, her freckled face alight with a broad grin and her curls bouncing wildly.

Vera ( Vanessa to some, but always Vera to herself ) was her vivacious neighbor, the type to walk into a conversation as easily as she walked into a room.

"Maryam!" Vera practically sang, her eyes immediately zoning in on the letter. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's the big secret, huh?"

Maryam gave a small, surprised laugh, forcing herself to keep her tone casual as she held the letter close to her chest. "It's... just a family letter," she replied.

"A family letter?" Vera's brows shot up, intrigued. She was practically craning her neck, unabashedly curious as she leaned in a little closer.

Maryam angled herself away instinctively, but Vera didn't miss a beat, lighting up with a new story. "Family's always so fun, don't you think? I had a cousin once—my mom's nephew, you know him, he always thought he'd marry this princess. Real princess, too, he'd tell everyone. Had the ring and all!" She chuckled, completely unfazed by her cousin's delusion. "Of course, that fell through. But he still brags about the ring. A little embarrassing, if you ask me."

Maryam chuckled, keeping her voice light. "Well, it's not that dramatic," she admitted, though she could feel the weight of her own family's secrets pulsing with quiet insistence under her hand. "Though... it does involve a wedding, actually."

Vera's face lit up with glee. "A wedding? That's serious business! Weddings have drama built in. Who's getting married? You have to tell me."

Maryam shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she folded the letter back up and slipped it into one of her grocery bags. "A cousin. It's all up in the air still, but you know how families get." She smiled, though her mind was already drifting back to her apartment, the quiet afternoon she had been dreaming of all day. But Vera wasn't one to let go easily.

As the doctor reached for her mailbox keys and snapped the small container shut, Vera stepped back, only to launch into her next request with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Hey, actually, speaking of tonight... I was thinking — well, my sister was thinking — you might want to come with us to the Iceberg Lounge?" She gave Maryam a hopeful, wide-eyed look.

Maryam stared, momentarily taken aback. The Iceberg Lounge? Again? She'd been there just last night, and Vera's sister wanted to go there on a date? The Lounge wasn't exactly a place for innocent fun — it was infamous for shady deals, underworld connections, and the kind of crowd that fed on Gotham's darkness.

"Me?" she blinked, genuine surprise flashing across her sharp features. "To the Lounge? Tonight?" Her instinct was to turn her down politely—she had her grocery bags, her cozy plans to nap, and now a letter that raised more questions than answers.

The thought of squeezing into a dress, surrounded by the smell of cigars and overpriced drinks, made her stomach churn.

"Yes, you," Vera replied with a knowing look, as if she could sense her hesitation. "You're always so busy, Maryam! You need a night out. My sister's got a new boyfriend, and he's got us a VIP section. Don't you ever get tired of being all... mysterious?"

"Mysterious?" Maryam gave a wry laugh, arching a perfectly structured brow. "I'm a medical examiner, Vera, not a spy."

Vera rolled her eyes but grinned. "You say that, but I'm convinced you're hiding something." Then, softening, she added with a pleading look, "It's just... you're always in your own world, always busy with work, doing important things, and I thought, for once, you could just be a regular person with me. At a nice, safe VIP table."

VIP ? Maryam almost laughed.

The Lounge was no mystery to her — she'd spent enough nights there in the shadows, moving unseen as the Wraith, blending into the dark corners to extract secrets from the very people seated in those VIP sections.

The irony of going as herself, with Vera, was surreal.

And she certainly wasn't thrilled about heading back to the Lounge so soon after last night's mission, but maybe a little distraction wouldn't be the worst thing...

Still, Maryam couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was going to be more complicated than Vera had planned. The Iceberg Lounge wasn't just any club, it was Gotham's underworld neatly packaged in a glamorous façade.

The shimmering lights, the velvet ropes, the thumping music — it all concealed the dangerous undercurrents that ran deep through the city's criminal heart. And after the chaos she'd dealt with as The Wraith, the last thing she needed was to wade back into that world, even if it was just for one night of "fun."

She much preferred the quiet safety of her apartment, the warmth of her cozy little space where she could shut out the noise of the city. A night in with a simple meal, maybe scrolling through her phone, or watching a nice movie sounded like heaven compared to the tension brewing inside her now.

The solitude was soothing, it was a stark contrast to the life she led outside those walls.

No masks, no knives, no lies — just her.

Besides, the letter loomed in her mind, dredging up thoughts of family and old memories. She opened her mouth to turn Vera down when, with a dramatic sigh, Vera caught her hand and gave her best pleading look.

"Please, Maryam? I'll owe you forever. And you know I'm good for it. Anything you need."

Maryam sighed, her resistance slipping away, worn down by Vera's relentless enthusiasm. "Alright, alright, fine." She felt her shoulders relax, accepting the inevitable. "But just this once, okay?"

Vera squealed, throwing her arms around her in a hug so tight it almost lifted Maryam off her feet. "Oh, thank you, thank you! You have no idea, I'll never forget this!"

Maryam laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah. But don't make a habit out of this, okay?" She gently disentangled herself from Vera's arms and shifted the grocery bags in her hands.

Vera released her with a beaming smile. "I swear, I won't! I'll knock on your door at nine, is that good?"

"Sure. That's good," Maryam replied, already mentally planning for the evening ahead.

With a final wave, Vera darted up the stairs, leaving Maryam to climb the narrow staircase alone, her footsteps echoing against the creaks and groans of the old building.

She reached her floor, hearing the muted sound of a TV playing somewhere down the hall and catching a faint whiff of someone's dinner cooking.

At her door, she fished out her keys, balancing the grocery bags in one arm as she struggled with the lock, which stuck like usual. She gave it a firm twist, and the door finally gave way with a soft bang, revealing her small, cluttered sanctuary.

She stepped inside and set her bags on the counter, letting out a long breath. Books and vinyl records were stacked in organized chaos, and a few plants perched on the windowsill looked as though they might have survived another week. Her cozy space, with its patchwork of comforting clutter, embraced her like an old friend.

Unpacking the groceries, she glanced out the window at the city below, stretching into the distance with its endless hum and flickering lights. There was something oddly comforting about its restless energy, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of her own mind.

And then her gaze drifted back to the bag on the counter — the letter, sitting there like an unanswered question, waiting for her to make sense of it. She stared at it for a long moment, as if something in its ink and paper might unlock memories she'd long since buried. Perhaps she hoped for a sign, some small word of warmth or recognition from the past. But the edges of the envelope remained silent and indifferent, like a distant relative with too many years between them.

Family.

It could be a beautiful word, or it could be a curse and a mystery, veiled in secrets and memories that faded with time.

But for now, all she could do was grab a quick shower, take a small nap, and get ready. Whatever was waiting at the Lounge, she'd deal with it.

Just like she always did.

        Cocktail dresses were not her forte.

Maryam stood in front of her open wardrobe, arms crossed, a deep sigh escaping her lips as she surveyed the options before her.

A frown creased her perfectly shaped brow.

Most of the outfits hanging neatly in her closet were better suited for formal events or professional settings.

Nothing here screamed "night out at a club." She flicked through the hangers impatiently, pushing aside blouses, blazers, scrubs, and slacks that felt too restrained for the evening ahead.

Her bronze, sun-kissed skin seemed to glow in the dim light of her room, reflecting softly off the wardrobe mirror. It was a striking contrast to her usual dark attire.

With her athletic frame and graceful curves ( sculpted by years of stealth training and night pursuits ) she could make almost anything look good. But tonight, her frustration wasn't just about finding the right dress. It was about stepping out of her comfort zone, something she rarely allowed herself to do.

She huffed in exasperation, ready to give up, when something caught her eye — tucked away in the back, forgotten in the shuffle of daily life.

The doctor reached for it with a flicker of hope, pulling out a sleek black-and-gold cocktail dress she hadn't worn in years. She hadn't even remembered buying it, let alone why it had never seen the light of day.

The dress was perfect : elegant yet daring.

The bodice hugged her figure, the black fabric clinging to her like a second skin, with intricate, shimmering details tracing along the top like constellations scattered across a midnight sky. The skirt flared out slightly at the hips, a flirtatious golden shimmer running through the black fabric, the hem brushing just above her knees.

It was sexy, bold, and exactly the kind of confidence boost she needed for a night out.

She slipped it on, adjusting the straps until they rested perfectly against her shoulders. The fabric felt cool against her skin, accentuating every curve in just the right way. She turned in front of the mirror, admiring how the dress shimmered with every movement. It wasn't her usual style, but tonight she felt like embracing something different.

Satisfied with the dress, Maryam turned her attention to shoes.

She owned only two pairs of heels : one for formal events and another for fun nights like this. She reached for the latter: black, strappy stilettos with a sharp heel and minimalist design.

They elevated her already long legs, making her stride look even more graceful. Sliding into them, she felt a surge of confidence wash over her.

Next came her hair and makeup.

Maryam stood in front of her bathroom mirror, a determined look in her eyes. Her naturally curly hair framed her face in wild, untamed waves, but tonight she wanted something different. She straightened it, adding volume and shine, before parting it to the left, creating a sleek, glamorous look that softened her sharp features.

Her makeup followed the same bold theme — sharp winged eyeliner, golden-white shimmer dusted across her eyelids, highlighting her bronzed skin.

The shimmering tones made her hazel eyes gleam under the bathroom lights, giving her an almost otherworldly glow. She finished with a classic red lip, a beautiful contrast against her warm complexion.

It was dramatic, intense, and undeniably stunning.

As Maryam stepped back to survey herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman looking back.

There was something raw and striking in her reflection — a beauty she'd never felt in quite this way before.

It reminded her of the journey she'd traveled, from a girl who hid behind masks, blending into shadows, to this version of herself.

Tonight, she wasn't hiding.

Every inch of her was polished to perfection, radiating a confidence she wasn't used to wearing.

A sharp knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts.

Vera.

Maryam took a deep breath, shaking off any lingering hesitation.

She'd committed to this night out, and for once, she intended to see it through. Opening the small black clutch on her vanity, she checked her essentials one last time: phone, keys, cigarettes, lighter, and — of course — her knives, hidden but always close.

She gave herself one final glance in the mirror before reaching for her black fur coat.

The soft fabric enveloped her in luxurious warmth, draping over her shoulders like a second skin. A few spritzes of her favorite perfume completed the transformation.

She was finally ready.

Another knock sounded, this time with an edge of impatience. "I'm coming!" Maryam called, voice laced with playful annoyance.

When she opened the door, Vera's jaw dropped in mock amazement. "Goddamn, Mar," she said, voice dripping with admiration. "You outdid yourself tonight. You look hot as hell, bitch."

Maryam smirked, rolling her eyes. "Shut up," she replied, though a small smile hinted at her amusement.

"Girl, please," Vera laughed, giving her a light tap on the shoulder. "You know you do."

Vanessa looked stunning herself. Her curls framed her face perfectly, and her smoky eye makeup made her doe eyes pop under the hallway's dim light. The glossy pink of her lips curved into a mischievous smile as she adjusted the hem of her flirty pink dress.

Together, they headed down the stairs, the steady clack of their heels echoing through the stairwell. In the lobby, they were greeted by the raspy voice of Gary, the elderly doorman who was practically a fixture in the building. Perched in his beat-up plastic chair with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he was Gotham's unofficial neighborhood watch, offering his unsolicited judgments on all who passed by.

As Maryam approached, his eyes widened in a rare show of interest. "Well, what a fucking doll you are tonight," he whistled, his gravelly voice almost amused.

Maryam resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Gary's crudeness was as predictable as his smoking habit, yet tonight his offhand compliment was oddly amusing. Maybe it was the dress, or maybe it was the thrill of being noticed.

"Thanks, Gary," she replied smoothly, brushing past him and leaving him to his cloud of smoke and judgments.

Vera received her own whistle from Gary as she passed, and the girls shared a knowing glance, shaking their heads with small, amused smiles.

Once settled in the plush seat of Vera's car, Maryam closed the door with a soft click behind her. Inside, the warmth of the car cocooned her, a comforting contrast to the night air outside. The low hum of the engine buzzed beneath her, a subtle reminder that the night had only just begun.

As they sped down the street, Maryam adjusted her fur coat, savoring its luxurious softness as it settled over her shoulders.

Underneath, she could feel the familiar weight of her concealed knives — a small reminder of the life she balanced, between shadows and moments of normalcy like this. No matter how glamorous the night, she never left without them.

Vera glanced over, her approving smirk still firmly in place. "You really clean up nice, you know that? It's a shame you don't go out more often. You could have half the city eating out of your hand if you wanted."

Maryam chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Not really my style, and you know it."

Vera sighed dramatically, keeping one hand on the wheel as she merged onto the main road. "Yeah, yeah. But once in a while, it's good to let loose. You need it more than anyone I know."

Maryam didn't argue. Vera had a point. Between her demanding job as a medical examiner and her life as The Wraith, nights like this were rare. These were the moments when she could set everything aside, even if just for a few hours — pretend to be someone else, someone who didn't carry the weight of secrets and shadows.

The city lights blurred together outside her window, the familiar skyline casting Gotham's silhouette against the inky night.

She stared out for a moment, lost in thought, until a question suddenly popped into her head. "Wait, are your sister and her boyfriend not joining us?"

"Oh, they're already there, waiting for us at the lounge," Vera replied, a mischievous grin creeping onto her lips. "Alessandro — my sister's boyfriend — he's the one who pulled some strings. Got us a VIP table and everything!" She wiggled her eyebrows, barely containing her excitement.

Maryam's stomach tightened.

Alessandro.

She had a sinking feeling about this.

"Please don't tell me it's... that underground club," she muttered, hoping her guess was wrong.

The club within the club, a hidden world where Gotham's elite gathered in secrecy. She knew it well — not as Maryam, but as The Wraith. Just last night, she'd prowled those rooms, cloaked in darkness, gathering intel. Tonight? Tonight, she was bare, unarmed in more ways than one.

Vera, oblivious to Maryam's inner turmoil, shrugged with an innocent smile. "What? I mean, I wouldn't really know. I just know it's fancy." She smirked, eyes gleaming.

Maryam let out a small, forced laugh. "Fancy, huh?"

Her grip tightened on her clutch, knuckles whitening. She knew Vera meant well, but she didn't understand. Gotham's elite didn't play by the same rules. And here, where secrets were currency, and favors held more value than gold, the stakes were high.

Even now, beneath her glamorous exterior, she felt the weight of her hidden knives pressing against her skin, a reminder that she could never fully let her guard down. Not here.

Vera chatted away as they approached the club, her excitement palpable. "So, his name's Alessandro, but before you say anything, I know he's... well, shady." She added quickly, "But my sister likes him. It's only been a week, so it's not serious."

Maryam sighed. "Italian charmers. Always the same," she muttered with a smirk.

"They're not all bad," Vera replied defensively, though she shot Maryam a knowing smile. "Look, I know you have your... concerns. But tonight, I just want you to have fun. We'll stay as long as you're comfortable, and if you need an out, just say the word."

"Thank you," Maryam murmured, squeezing her friend's shoulder. Then, in a lighter tone, she added, "Just... don't lose me in there, okay?"

They pulled up to the Iceberg Lounge, where the crowd buzzed with energy, eager to dive into Gotham's nightlife. Vera led the way, navigating through the throngs with practiced ease, flashing a confident smile as they sidestepped the velvet ropes.

But then she saw them.

The Twins — Boris and Maksim, towering sentinels of the Lounge.

Maryam's stomach twisted at the sight of them. Known for their brutal efficiency, they were gatekeepers of Gotham's underworld, faces cold and calculating. She often referred to them as the Evil Twins, a joke that hid the truth.

They knew her as The Wraith, but as Maryam, she was just another face.

Their scrutiny pressed down on her, quickening her pulse. She forced herself to breathe steadily, feeling the cold steel of her knives, their presence reassuring in the midst of this familiar, dangerous world.

"Relax," Vera whispered, catching the tension in her friend's jaw as they neared the entrance. "It's just a night out. No one's gonna bother you here."

Maryam forced a tight smile. "Yeah," she murmured, exhaling slowly. "Just a night out."

      As they stepped into the underground club, the deep, rhythmic pulse of music filled the air, vibrating through the floor beneath their feet.

It was the same as she stepped as the wraith the other night, the lights inside were dim, casting a moody glow over the lavish interior of the Iceberg Lounge.

Everything felt luxurious and dangerous at the same time — Gotham's elite brushed shoulders with the shadows, a mix of power and menace lingering in every corner.

Maryam let her eyes adjust to the low light, clutching her fur, taking in the sprawling dance floor and the glittering chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.

The bar was packed, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and alcohol. She felt Vera grab her arm, pulling her closer as they navigated through the crowd.

"See? Not so bad," Vanessa said, her voice just audible over the pounding bass. "Just some little fun."

Maryam forced a smile, nodding, but her eyes were scanning the room.

Even if she wasn't The Wraith tonight, her instincts were hard to turn off. Every flicker of movement caught her attention, every unfamiliar face was logged in her mind. Old habits. She had worked too long in Gotham's underbelly to let her guard down.

They made their way up the stairs to the VIP section, a private area where Vera's sister and her boyfriend were waiting. The music quieted slightly as they reached the upper level, the noise of the main club below muffled by thick glass windows.

Alessandro stood as they approached, his charming smile disarming yet slightly unsettling. He was tall and impeccably dressed, exuding a confidence that whispered of wealth and power. Maryam returned his smile with a polite nod, but an instinctive shiver ran down her spine. There was something about him; a magnetic charm that felt dangerously close to predatory.

"Hey, guys!" Vera called out, her voice bright with excitement as she spotted the couple lounging on the plush, red cushions.

"Look who finally decided to join the living," Alessandro teased, a smirk tugging at his lips, wavering somewhere between playful and condescending. Vera's excitement was evident in the way she beamed at him, but Maryam felt a gnawing apprehension in her stomach.

"Welcome, welcome, ladies," he added, his voice smooth as the whiskey he was swirling in his glass.

Constance — Connie — Vera's older sister, gave him a sharp glance, her protective instincts flaring for a moment before she took control of the situation. "Alessandro, play nice. This is their first night out in ages. Well, for Maryam at least," she smirked, casting a look at her sister.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Vera replied, putting on an exaggeratedly offended look.

Maryam carefully settled into the cushioned seat, her body tense, her legs crossed tightly. She held her fur coat in front of her, clutching it like a shield against the mounting anxiety that threatened to engulf her.

Meanwhile, Maryam eased herself down into the seat, carefully, as if a single wrong move would shatter her poise.

She held her fur coat in front of her, clutching it like a shield against the creeping anxiety gnawing at her. Her legs crossed tightly, her posture conveying both elegance and guardedness.

Alessandro raised his glass, glancing over with a lazy smirk. "Relax, everyone. It's just a night out," he said, his voice light, though his gaze was anything but. Despite the casual words, something in his tone hinted at layers that went deeper than his outward charm.

Vera gave a bright smile and introduced the couple. "This is my sister, Connie, and her boyfriend, Alex," she said, dropping her clutch on the table with a little flourish. "I'll grab us some drinks—be right back."

Maryam narrowed her hazel eyes, a flicker of discomfort rippling through her. Why had she left her alone with strangers?

Connie, who had been quietly observing Maryam, spoke up over the thumping bass of the music. "So you're a medical examiner?"

Maryam tried to play it cool, though unease curled in her stomach like a snake. "Yes," she replied, offering a small smile that felt more like a mask than genuine warmth.

"By the way, I love your dress and makeup!" Connie exclaimed, her tone warm and genuine, her eyes lighting up as she admired Maryam's outfit. "You look absolutely stunning!"

Maryam had put effort into her appearance tonight, hoping it would boost her confidence, though the tension knotting her stomach threatened to dampen her excitement.

"Thanks," Maryam replied, feeling a slight flush rise to her cheeks at the compliment. "You look amazing too! That blue is perfect on you!"

Constance only smiled and flocked her hair behind her shoulder.

Alessandro leaned back, loosening the buttons of his shirt, a smirk playing on his lips. "Don't want a drink?"

"Hm, I actually don't drink. I just came here with Vera to keep her company."

"That's sweet of you," Connie remarked, fidgeting with her nails as if they were a distraction from the atmosphere. "If you ever want to leave, don't hesitate."

Why did they keep repeating that?

"Yeah, Vanessa told me. But I don't really want to leave her alone."

"She's safe with me, don't worry," Connie tried to reassured her.

Maryam only nodded, the awkward silence settling over them like a heavy blanket. She could feel their eyes on her, studying her, dissecting her with their gaze. She pretended to observe the club around them, feigning disinterest, but her mind was racing.

Her eyes flicked toward groups of people huddled at tables, the glow of the lights revealing a few familiar faces; one of them being Gil Couson, the District Attorney.

It wasn't surprising, no, she'd seen plenty of DA's and GCPD officials frequent this place when she operated as The Wraith.

When she looked back at her table, she found Alessandro and Connie already watching her, their expressions unreadable. Clearing her throat to break the tension, Maryam attempted to steer the conversation. "So, what do you guys do for a living?"

"Well, I work in a bank, assistant." Connies says, taking a sip from the martini that had just been set on the table.

"Oh yeah, Vera mentioned it," Maryam replied, forcing a light tone. "And you?" She directed her question toward Alessandro, her curiosity piqued despite herself, even if she already had an inkling of who he really was.

"Business," he answered simply, his gaze unwavering, a slight edge to his voice that made Maryam's heart race.

She nodded, the conversation dwindling into an uncomfortable silence. Vera still hadn't returned, and the weight of the atmosphere pressed down on her.

Just then, a group of men entered the table, speaking rapid-fire Italian, their presence commanding and decidedly more dangerous. One of them shot Maryam a wink as they settled in, launching into a hushed conversation that felt too secretive, too conspiratorial.

Sensing the tension, she leaned closer to Connie. "I'm going to grab some water."

Connie only nodded, still sipping on her martini.

Maryam stood and made her way toward the bar, navigating through the throngs of people, each lost in their own world of revelry and distraction.

As she walked, she collided with a woman sporting a striking red wig. "Oh shit—I'm so sorry!" Maryam blurted, her cheeks flushing slightly as she stepped back.

"No, it's me," the woman responded, her brows knitting in confusion as she studied Maryam intently.

The doctor offered an awkward smile, the unease creeping back into her veins as she continued toward the bar, the vibrant chaos of the club swirling around her.

She felt like an outsider, a ghost among the living, and as she reached for a glass of water, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched — by both friends and foes alike.

The doctor took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she finally reached the bar. The pulsating beat of the club made her head throb faintly, and she felt the weight of dozens of eyes on her.

But maybe it was just her own nerves amplifying everything. She focused on the bartender, who was busy sliding colorful cocktails across the counter to eager hands.

"Just water, please," she said, her voice barely carrying above the music. The bartender nodded, raising an eyebrow slightly before he turned to get her drink.

As she waited, Maryam forced herself to take in the room, hoping it might somehow ease the chill that crept up her spine.

But her gaze snagged on a familiar face: the red-haired woman sitting with none other than Gotham's district attorney, Gil Coulson.

Married, with kids, yet here he was, leaning in close, as if he had no reputation to keep up—or maybe just didn't care anymore.

She almost laughed at the irony.

Of course Coulson would show up somewhere like this, where drops flowed and morals faded.

Then her eyes drifted back to Alessandro.

He sat surrounded by his group, that same unreadable expression fixed on her. Even when he rose to speak to someone across the room, his gaze didn't waver, didn't stray from her for an instant, as though he were studying her, waiting.

She looked away, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, trying to steady her breath, to shake off the feeling that she'd made a grave mistake.

She shouldn't have come here, not tonight, not so exposed, not with eyes watching her from every corner.

"First time out in a while?" The bartender's voice pulled her back to the present as he handed her the glass of water.

She managed a small smile. "That obvious?"

He shrugged with a sympathetic smile of his own. "Just a guess."

A low, gravelly voice cut in, intruding on the exchange. "Rough night, huh?"

She turned, immediately regretting it.

Leaning casually beside her was a man with dark eyes and a teasing smirk, a jagged scar cutting across his brow.

Matteo — Vittorio's bodyguard.

Shit.

How was he still standing after the beating she'd given him yesterday? Her gaze dropped to his leg, where a cane was propped against him. Well, maybe not entirely.

He held a cocktail, studying her like she was prey he'd patiently been waiting to pounce on. She kept her expression neutral, unwilling to give him even a hint of reaction.

"Something like that," she replied, voice steady but gaze guarded. Small talk wasn't on her agenda, especially not here, and especially not with someone like him.

Matteo let out a rough chuckle, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Well, don't let the night swallow you up, ghost girl."

The nickname struck her like a strange jolt, stirring something cold and uneasy in her gut, but she masked it with a polite, dismissive smile.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," she said coolly, turning back to her drink, hoping that was the end of it.

Matteo lingered just a second longer, his gaze trailing over her like he had every right.

But then, as if summoned, he turned abruptly toward a group across the room—one that included Alessandro. Her stomach tightened.

Of course.

So her suspicions were right; Alessandro was working with the Falcones.

She watched him slip through the crowd, blending in with the familiar ease of someone who'd spent too long in the shadows.

The unease she'd felt before coiled tighter, sharper, her pulse hammering.

There was no coincidence here, not with the way Alessandro caught her eye, his lips quirking in a faint, knowing smirk.

It wasn't just some off-chance meeting.

They were watching her; had been all night it seemed.

A chill crept through her, settling in her bones like ice. She'd been careful, blending into the crowd, slipping through unnoticed — or so she'd thought.

But every look, every sideways glance she hadn't caught, now felt like an unseen thread tightening around her.

Her grip on the glass tightened, the cold condensation seeping into her skin. She felt exposed, out of place, like prey unknowingly lured into a trap.

She had to keep control, play her part, if only until she could slip away unnoticed.

But she needed to go. Now.

Maryam casually placed her glass on the bar, hoping her fingers weren't visibly trembling.

With a practiced smile, she nodded at the bartender, as if all was well, as if the weight of prying eyes didn't press down on her shoulders.

        When she finally left the bar, the medical examiner wove her way back toward their table.

Her eyes scanned the dim, crowded space until they landed on Alessandro, still watching her with a lazy smirk, his gaze assessing, as if he'd caught every detail of her evening.

The doctor fought the urge to roll her eyes, sighing inwardly as she continued walking. Her fur coat felt weightier now, almost like armor against the scrutiny of the room.

Back at their table, she found Connie sitting alone, a bit annoyed but glued to her phone. "Hey," Maryam said softly, sliding into the seat beside her.

"Hey," Connie murmured, barely looking up before flicking her eyes back to the screen. The flashing lights cast a colorful glow on her face as she scrolled.

Maryam hesitated. "I haven't found Vera anywhere, and... I'm exhausted. Tomorrow's kind of a big day for me. I think I'm gonna head out."

Connie's gaze remained fixated on her phone. "Yeah, sure. Go home if you want. Not like you have to stay just because Vera's here," she replied dismissively, her fingers continuing to tap rapidly on the screen.

"You sure? I don't mind sticking around a bit longer. I just don't want to leave Vera stranded."

Connie finally glanced up, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. "Look, Maryam. It's ok, go. She's fine. She'll go home with me when we're done here. Just don't worry about it." She gestured vaguely to the edge of the dance floor, where Vera stood close to a tall guy with tousled hair, laughing as he leaned down to say something in her ear. "See? She's busy."

Maryam smiled faintly. "Alright, if you're sure. I really don't want to be rude."

Connie sighed, rolling her eyes as she returned to her phone. "Honestly, it's better for you. This place isn't really your scene anyway. You'll be bored out of your mind."

"Guilty," Maryam falsely admitted, forcing herself. "It's just... not really my thing. I've got a long day tomorrow too."

"Right, the mayor's funeral." Connie didn't look up, still focused on her screen. "You should definitely go home then."

"Thanks, Connie. I appreciate it." Maryam gathered her things, glancing once more at the buzzing club before standing up. She offered Connie a warm smile. "Thanks for having me. I hope you two have fun."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Connie barely looked up from her phone, her tone dismissive as she continued scrolling. "Safe travels! Just text Vera if you need her."

Maryam could sense the irritation radiating from her. With a grateful nod, she turned and made her way toward the exit.

As she slipped through the crowd, she pulled out her phone, shooting Vera a quick text to check in:

Heading home. Hope you're having fun. Stay safe !! <3.

With a resigned sigh, she slipped out of the club and into the cold night air.

Lighting a cigarette, she took a deep drag, feeling the smoke fill her lungs, and began to walk down the street in search of a cab.

The click-clack of her high heels echoed against the pavement, each step a reminder of how out of place she felt.

Clutching her fur coat tighter around her shoulders, she let her thoughts drift, allowing the city's vibrant nightlife to fade into the background.

Suddenly, without warning, a gloved hand gripped her arm and yanked her into a dark alley.

Panic surged through her as she yelled, the sound swallowed by the night, but before she could draw a breath or take one of her hidden knives, a hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her.

"What the hell?!" she muttered against his hand, her voice muffled but furious. Without a second thought, she bit down hard, forcing him to pull his gloved hand back. Taking advantage of the moment, she shoved against his solid chest, trying to free herself from his grip.

"What were you doing in the 44 Below?" he only replied, his voice low and gravelly, darkened eyes with charcoal around it narrowing as he studied her, assessing the confusion etched on her face.

"Are you stalking me, you fucking creep?" she shot back, her heart racing.

She fought to regain her composure, breath coming in shaky gasps, visible in the frigid air around them. With a quick movement, she pushed the stray strands of hair away from her mouth and eyes, trying to clear her vision and steady herself.

"I saw you there," he said simply, his mask obscuring most of his face.

"How?" she demanded, her tone sharp, but he ignored her question, his gaze unwavering.

"What were you doing there, Maryam? Are you tangled up with Carmine Falcone's corrupt bunch?" His words were sharp, each one dripping with suspicion as he stepped closer, invading her personal space.

Instead of answering, she lashed out, slapping him hard across the cheek.

The sound echoed in the quiet alley, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, turning his head slightly as if her strike had genuinely stung.

"Fuck you. No, I was here because a friend invited me! I didn't even know we were going down there!" she snapped, her anger simmering just below the surface. "I didn't stay long, anyway."

Turning on her heel, she started to head back toward the street, desperate to escape the confrontation.

But as she did, her ankle twisted awkwardly, sending her crashing to her knees on the unforgiving pavement. A sharp wince escaped her lips as pain shot through her.

What a stupid move, Maryam. Bravo. The bitter thought lingered in her mind.

He was at her side in an instant, concern etched into his masked features.

"Leave me alone," she muttered, trying to wave him off, but he shook his head, his voice firm. "You need to sit still."

"I can and I will." she insisted, her pride flaring.

But he didn't listen.

Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms, her surprise morphing into indignation as she yelped. "What the hell are you doing? Oh my god--"

"You can't walk like that," he reiterated, his tone brokering no argument.

"I can manage!" she protested, but her struggles were futile against his strength.

He carried her with no problem as if she weighted nothing, toward a mid-engined muscle car, sleek black and big car parked nearby, opening the door to the passenger seat.

"Hey —" she began to protest, but he cut her off, locking the door with a swift click before sliding into the driver's seat.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, a hint of panic threading through her voice.

"Your apartment," he replied, the engine roaring to life as he pulled away from the curb.

Maryam stared at him, a mix of anger and bewilderment coursing through her. She had never asked for this — for him to step in as her protector.

Her gaze drifted over the car's interior, buttons gleaming everywhere, with only two seats and a large motor behind them.

It looked as if he had built it himself.

Absentmindedly, she reached out to touch one of the buttons, intrigued by the craftsmanship.

"You shouldn't touch that," he warned, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"Sorry," she murmured, quickly retracting her hand and crossing her arms, pulling her fur coat tighter as she turned to stare out the window.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the faint squeak of his leather gloves on the wheel.

When she glanced at the vigilante, his jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet hers—as if he was deliberately avoiding her.

She furrowed her brows, puzzled by his cold distance.

Who was she kidding? They barely knew each other; of course he would act like that. The way he kept his emotions under wraps, as if they were a dangerous secret

He didn't respond, just continued to drive with that inscrutable expression.

It infuriated her further to no end.

Did he think she was weak? Did he believe she couldn't handle herself?

The tension in the car was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Maryam shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her mind a storm of unspoken thoughts. Being this close to him was unsettling, and the fact that he was shutting her out now only stoked her frustration.

"So this is how it's going to be?" she finally asked, her voice low but edged with annoyance. "You play the hero, drag me into this mess, and now you're just going to ignore me?"

The city lights flickered across his masked face, casting sharp shadows that only made him more unreadable.

After what felt like forever, he finally spoke. "I didn't drag you into anything," his tone was controlled, but there was something darker beneath it. "You were already in it. I'm just making sure you stay alive."

Maryam scoffed, shaking her head. "I never asked for your help. I don't even know you. You're the one who keeps showing up out of nowhere," she said, her hands gesturing animatedly as she threw him a sharp glare.

She cursed under her breath in Arabic. "I can handle myself just fine."

The tension in the car was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife. The doctor shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her mind a storm of unspoken thoughts.

Being this close to him was unsettling, and the fact that he was shutting her out now only stoked her frustration.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, the tension in his sharp jaw making every muscle stand out.

Maryam's eyes flickered to the small cut on his face — her cut, the one she'd given him without realizing the night The Wraith clashed with the Bat. His cheek was still red from where she'd slapped him earlier.

Guilt tugged at her, but only for a moment.

He had underestimated her, after all, and maybe this was his karma.

The leather creaked under his hands as he snapped, "Handling yourself almost got you killed tonight."

His words hung heavy in the air as he glanced at her, his gaze hard as they stopped at a red light.

"Killed?" Maryam shot back, her voice rising in disbelief. "What are you even talking about? I was literally minding my own business, smoking a cigarette, and you dragged me into that alley! If anything, I should call the cops on you for kidnapping!" She jabbed her finger toward his face, anger sparking in her eyes, her pulse quickening with frustration.

He didn't flinch, but his gaze darkened. "It's Gotham. It's dangerous anytime, especially for a woman at night."

The words hit her harder than she expected.

For a moment, the car was filled with nothing but silence, the engine's low hum the only sound between them. She swallowed the knot in her throat, her chest tight.

There was truth in his words, but the way he said it—like she was some helpless victim—ignited a fire in her.

She wasn't just another woman in Gotham, and she sure as hell didn't need his protection.

But despite the anger simmering inside her, the weight of the night and his warnings pressed down on her like a cold, heavy blanket.

She turned her gaze out the window, unwilling to let him see just how much his words had stung.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

"It's doctor to you," Maryam snapped back, her voice sharp. "And why do you care so much about what happens to me?"

Like always, he didn't respond immediately.

The low hum of the engine filled the silence, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer at all.

But then, in that deep, controlled voice of his, he said, "You're valuable."

Huh?

Her stomach twisted.

Valuable? That was it?

That was his reason for constantly showing up? For interfering in her life? A mixture of hurt and anger rose in her chest, so intense it was almost frightening. He infuriated her in ways no one else ever had.

She stared at him, catching the familiar clench of his jaw. "Right," she said, trying to sound unaffected. "Lovely to hear," she added with a biting edge to her voice.

His gaze flickered, perhaps noticing her frustration, but he stayed silent, stoic as ever.

"That's all I am to you, then? Valuable?" Maryam murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet trembling with the weight of withheld anger. She spoke as if to herself, words slipping out like secrets she could no longer bear to keep. "Just some asset to monitor, a liability to contain —like a ticking bomb?"

She didn't stop, didn't give him a chance to answer, and he could feel the words catch in his throat, unspoken, the retort he might have given already hollow. Her voice held a rawness, an unfiltered pain that made his chest constrict, and he hated the way it cut through him, so exposed and honest.

"I'm not just valuable. I'm a person. I bleed, I break. And you... you can't just—" Her words wavered, her voice splintering as she tried to find the right thing to say, to capture the truth of how much his detachment wounded her. "You can't just treat me like I'm another cog in your mission, something to be controlled and used when convenient."

He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, tension flickering across his face as he fought to hold his composure. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice taut, controlled.

"Oh, please," she shot back, folding her arms as if to shield herself from the hurt that pooled in her chest. Her tone was bitter, tired. "If you're going to keep manipulating me, following me, then at least be honest about it. Don't pretend it's for my sake."

"I'm not here to manipulate you," he shot back, his tone sharp and cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Then what are you here for? Hm? " she challenged, fully aware she was being infuriating, but it felt like a necessary pushback. "Because from where I'm sitting, all you've done is make my life infinitely more complicated." She laughed bitterly, the sound laced with frustration. "Do you think I wanted any of this? You just show up, decide what's best for me, and vanish like—like I'm supposed to be grateful!"

His gaze stayed steady, unwavering, the shadows in the alley accentuating the angles of his face. "You're not just in danger, Maryam. You are the danger. To yourself, to others. If you get caught up in this without knowing what you're dealing with, you'll be—"

"Collateral damage?" she interrupted, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Another loose end for you to tie up? Don't you dare stand there and pretend this is just about keeping me safe."

She jabbed a sharp finger toward him, her frustration palpable. "You just don't want anyone interfering with your plans. Isn't that right hm?"

"Believe what you want," he replied, voice hard, but she could sense a tremor beneath it. "But if you understood what's out there, you wouldn't be asking for independence. You'd be begging for protection."

Her eyes blazed with anger as she held his gaze, feeling the weight of every word. "I. don't. need. protection. And certainly not yours. I'm capable of making my own choices, even if they aren't the right ones."

"Then those choices are going to get you killed," he replied, blunt and unyielding. But his voice was different this time, the edges frayed, his words dropping into something raw, almost desperate. "And you have no idea what that would mean—for the people you'd leave behind."

What ?

Her breath caught, her anger stumbling as the confusion washed over her. What did he mean?

He was so confusing, so closed off, it hurt.

She opened her mouth to respond, to demand an explanation, but the words vanished in the hollow space between them.

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe ?—crossed her face as she saw him, just for a moment, slip. She'd never expected to see even a crack in that armor.

The silence stretched, taut as a wire, until they pulled near the Narrows, the streets narrowing and darkening around them.

He eased the car to a stop in an alleyway by her apartment, and the tension between them was so thick it seemed to vibrate, settling like a weight on her shoulders.

"Thanks," she muttered, barely meaning it, as she reached for the door handle. The bitter night air struck her as soon as it cracked open, a jolt of cold that only intensified the aching in her chest, the emptiness his words left behind.

The chill bit into her skin as her feet touched the pavement, and she welcomed it — a reminder that, at least, her night was finally ending. She was just about to pull her hand free, to escape back into her own world, when she felt his hand close around hers, firm and unyielding.

Startled, she looked back, but he didn't meet her gaze, his expression hidden in the shadows. He pressed something into her palm : a small device, cool and solid in her hand.

"For emergencies," he murmured, his voice low and final.

She looked down at the device, feeling the cool weight of it settle into her palm, a tangible reminder that, despite everything, he'd bound her to him yet again.

It was a lifeline, but one she hadn't asked for—a link to him she didn't know how to sever, even if she wanted to. Anger and confusion swirled within her, pressing up against her resolve.

Part of her wanted to throw it back, to end whatever twisted bond he kept tethering her to.

But her fingers only tightened around it, a reluctant acceptance she despised herself for.

"Right," she said softly, her voice almost swallowed by the silence. "Because I'm 'valuable.'"

He was so still, so unyielding, but the shadows softened just enough for her to catch something in his expression— hesitation maybe, but it was like a crack in his perfect, unreadable mask.

The cold barrier he wore around himself seemed to shift, and she could almost feel something between them, a weight heavy with unspoken things, words neither of them could say.

Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, she almost believed he would answer her. But the flicker passed, buried beneath the steel of his gaze, the armor snapping back into place.

He was the Bat once more; untouchable, unreachable.

"Stay safe," he said finally, his tone curt, though beneath it, that rawness lingered, faint but unmistakable.

She swallowed hard, her chest tight, and managed a small nod. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "Be careful."

His gaze shifted, just a flicker, but enough to show her words had once again slipped past his defenses. Somehow, it was her specialty with him : finding those hidden, vulnerable places beneath his armor, stirring something in him he'd long thought dead.

It was as if she could reach the parts of him he'd buried, unsettling that stone-cold heart he swore no one could touch.

Without another word, she turned, stepped out, and closed the door, her fingers lingering on the handle for just a moment longer than necessary. Then, she stepped away, her legs carrying her quickly toward her building.

She didn't look back, didn't trust herself to.

The door to her apartment closed behind her, but she could still feel his presence, the memory of that unsaid moment like an ache in her chest.

Outside, the Batmobile remained in the shadows, unmoving, a silent sentinel.

His silent presence lingering like a ghost in the shadows, unwilling to let her go but never willing to let her stay.

It didn't pull away until her apartment light finally flickered on, and even then, the empty space it left felt far too heavy.

A/N : Angst seems to be Maryam and Bruce speciality at this point ;)
Btw this is the outfit & make up/hair I had in mind while writing the chapter— if anyone's interested ofc (lol) :