Tim Drake and Virgil García were the brains of the Wayne (and co.) family. When it came to anything involving computers or technology, they were the go-to pair. It was no surprise that the two of them were sitting at a desk, deep in research about the recent surge in Russian criminals infiltrating Gotham.

It was clear there was a suspected gang behind much of it, and the names that kept popping up, along with the photos, revealed a concerning pattern. A lot of the criminals were connected—often together in the images—and most were female fighters with the occasional male. The women seemed to be weapons themselves, trained in violence, while the men took a different role in the hierarchy. It was a dangerous mix, and their research was only getting more unsettling.

Virgil, exhausted from his lack of sleep, stared blankly at the screen. Tim noticed his tiredness. Three hours of sleep over the past three days didn't help, and even caffeine seemed to be losing its magic.

The nineteen-year-old glanced over at his older boyfriend, who looked like he was on the brink of crashing. Tim rubbed his eyes and got up, grabbing his cup before taking Virgil's and heading toward the kitchen to fill them up.

It was during this moment that Damian walked into the room. He stood still for a second, eyes narrowing as he observed the back of Virgil's head.

"Dami," Virgil greeted without turning.

"You don't live here," Damian replied curtly.

"I'm dating your brother. Get over it."

Damian tutted and took the vacant seat that Tim had just vacated. He watched Virgil closely, waiting for the older man to notice something was off.

Virgil sighed and leaned back in his chair. "What's up, pocket-sized Robin?" he asked, clearly not in the mood for whatever Damian was about to throw at him. When Damian didn't immediately respond, Virgil added, "Aren't you seeing your girlfriend tonight?"

Damian blinked at him, confused and suddenly defensive. "I don't have a girlfriend."

Virgil snorted, his mind racing back to Dick's messy situation. "I think Dick said that once, too. I found him and Babs shagging that night." Virgil wasn't trying to make a point, but it was clear he understood Damian had issues he wasn't willing to talk about. Maybe talking to Dick would help, but the problem was, Dick wasn't even in Gotham. That meant Virgil was playing the role of surrogate parent for the youngest Wayne sibling, along with a growing cast of other family members who all had their own way of dealing with things.

Virgil turned his chair to face Damian, crossing his arms with a slight smirk, clearly amused by the boy's reluctance to open up.

Damian opened his mouth to speak but stopped when his gaze caught a face on Virgil's laptop. His heart skipped.

It was her. Svetlana.

A younger version of the girl he had become familiar with. The shock hit him like a freight train. The photos were clearly old, but they told a story he wasn't prepared for.

Betrayal coursed through his veins as he grabbed the laptop off the desk and stared at the screen. His grip tightened around the edges of the computer, and his blood boiled.

Virgil noticed, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Before he could speak, Damian snapped, slamming the laptop back down onto the desk.

Tim had just returned with the refilled cups of coffee and was nearly knocked off his feet when Damian stormed past him. He furrowed his brows in confusion, but Virgil only shrugged.

"Hormones," Virgil said dryly, offering an understanding smile, even though he knew it was much more complicated than that. It was just easier to make light of it than to deal with the raw emotions Damian was trying to suppress.

The rest of the day, and well into the night, Damian remained seething with anger. His mind wouldn't let go of what he'd seen on that laptop. He didn't care about the reasons; he didn't care about the circumstances. What mattered was that the girl he had grown to trust—Svetlana—was tied to something much darker than he had ever imagined.

So, he found himself standing in the darkest corner of Svetlana's bedroom, a shadow amongst shadows.

Svetlana climbed through her window, having no issue with the bottom-floor entrance. Her knuckles were bruised and dotted with blood. She had been in a fight, but even now, she moved with the elegance of someone who had trained herself to hide her pain.

She didn't look like the same girl he had come to know. But then again, neither did he.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, pulling off her jumper to inspect the fading bruise on her ribs.

"Do you perve on a lot?" she called out to the empty room, her tone laced with the quiet realization that someone was watching her. It wasn't hard to figure out. If she hadn't been raised to be hyper-aware of her surroundings, she might've missed him entirely.

Damian stepped out from his corner, his presence almost predatory as he pressed the light switch. The cold, harsh light flickered on, revealing the girl who seemed to embody both perfection and an inexplicable darkness.

Disappointment and anger radiated off him, and she could feel it even before he said anything.

Svetlana pulled on a loose-fitting shirt, tying it around her waist to expose her shorts. The tension in the room thickened as Damian stepped closer.

When she turned to face him, they were mere inches apart. Her expression didn't change—if anything, it became more calculating. She could tell he knew something, but whether or not she wanted him to know it was another story entirely.

He raised a set of photos in his hand, their edges creased and bent from how tightly he'd been holding them. He tossed them onto her desk, and she picked them up without hesitation.

Her stomach turned when she looked at the photos—photos of her as a child. One of them was taken just before she was adopted—almost a year before. The others... too many others, showed her as a child, barely older than five.

"You said you weren't one, Svetlana Orlova," Damian said, his voice bitter, accusing.

Svetlana's heart pounded in her chest. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I never confirmed or denied it," she replied softly, her Russian accent taking the edge off her defense. "Full naming me has no effect."

Damian's jaw clenched, anger practically dripping from his every word. "Alright then, I want you to be fucking clear. Can you do that or are you too incompetent to answer a question?"

Svetlana placed the photos back on the desk with a delicate but firm motion, her expression turning cold. The dread that had been gnawing at her shifted to something far sharper. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, and her muscles tensed in preparation.

"Ты ничем не отличаешься от грешников, Робин." You're no different than the sinners, Robin.

Damian didn't know what she had said, but he knew it was a provocation. He could see her control slipping, the tension in her body speaking volumes.

Svetlana wasn't just angry—she wanted to hurt him. And, somehow, he wanted to hurt her too.

He tutted at her, a dismissive sound that only made her more furious. In one swift motion, she walked past him, her shoulder slamming into his.

Damian's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip. But Svetlana wasn't caught off guard. She turned, twisting her arm and using his own momentum against him.

Surprised but playing along, Damian resisted, but not enough. He had underestimated her, and she was more than ready to prove him wrong. Their bodies collided in the heat of the fight, a blur of anger and violence.

Each move, each strike, was fueled by emotions neither of them understood fully. Blood was drawn, bruises formed, but in that moment, nothing mattered except the chaos between them.

Svetlana, trained to hide her emotions behind her delicate exterior, took advantage of every weakness in Damian's guard. She moved like a shadow, a ghost that seemed impossible to defeat.

But for a brief moment, both of them could feel it—the deep ache in their chests. The realization that, for all their anger, they were not as different as they had hoped.

As the fight ended, both were left bruised, battered, and with a newfound understanding of just how dangerous they both could be.