Svetlana wasn't used to phone calls—especially FaceTimes—especially not from Robin. So when she answered and saw a twenty-year-old with black hair and a white streak, she was a little confused.

"Hi, Jason Todd. You are Svetlana, yes?" Jason asked, playing dumb, as if he didn't know, as if Damian had dialed the wrong number.

But Jason believed his brother should have some serious moves if he wanted to pull a girl like her. He figured Damian would have a lot of competition—and who would want to date him when there were better options, like Jason himself, or the second Robin, or even Red Hood? Of course, not him as an option for her, but anyone was better than Damian.

"Yes?" Svetlana responded cautiously.

"My brother has a crush on you."

In the background, she could hear a very familiar voice shouting for his phone and simultaneously threatening Jason with a crowbar.

"I know," she said, acknowledging the obvious. "But why a crowbar?"

Svetlana tilted her head, eyeing Jason for a moment. She judged him, amused by how he used his height over Damian. But she couldn't say much—she was only about five feet, and he was maybe two inches taller.

"It was my weapon, I was ki—" Jason cut off mid-sentence, glaring at Damian, who was still holding the phone out of reach.

"Imbecile, dig yourself out of that grave," Damian said, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall, glaring at Jason.

"I've done it before, demon spawn!" Jason shot back.

"Actually, it was mother who dug you out," Damian replied, his tone deadpan.

Svetlana's mind ticked as she processed what had just been said. There was understanding, the pieces falling into place. Jason wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, but she was quick to connect the dots. "You're Red Hood! Oh, wow. Ух ты, это как сон." She was genuinely amazed that an entire family could pull this off and not get caught. "Genius, but so obvious." Wow, this is like a dream.

"I do try," Jason said, smirking.

"You speak Russian?!" Svetlana's eyes brightened. No one she knew could understand her when she spoke in her native language.

Jason wasn't fluent, but he was good enough. "Enough."

Svetlana nodded as she continued walking down the dark alley.

It wasn't obvious, but Svetlana didn't spend much time in her own apartment. She preferred the streets of Gotham. The cold air was refreshing.

Suddenly, a dog barked in the distance, pulling her attention away from the phone call. She turned, her hand raised in a gesture of no threat. "О! Собака!" Oh! A dog!

As she knelt down beside the dog, she placed her phone gently on the ground. The dog was covered in blood, and she whispered softly, "Poor boy," as she ran her hand over its fur, finding the source of the bleeding. "I thought animal abuse was a myth," she muttered to herself. Her fingers traced the gash. "To kill or not to kill," she mumbled again, contemplating the injuries that marred the Cane Corso puppy's body.

Ending the FaceTime call, she quickly pulled off her shirt, using the vest she wore underneath as a makeshift bandage to cover the dog's wounds.

Later, at her fire escape, Svetlana was kneeling beside the dog, tending to its wounds. The dog, now washed and still damp, lay asleep on the sofa. The sadness in her eyes was hard to miss as she worked, trying to ease the suffering of an innocent creature.

Damian Wayne appeared, tapping lightly on the window, letting himself in as she called out that it was open. His eyes scanned the room as he stood behind the sofa, arms casually resting on the back.

"Does that make Dick Grayson Nightwing, Tim Drake Red Robin, and Mr. Wayne Batman?" Svetlana asked, her voice casual but knowing.

Damian didn't say anything. The silence was all the confirmation she needed.

"You wear a vest?" Damian asked, his curiosity piqued.

Svetlana raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her chest before looking back up at him. "Not always. Bras are uncomfortable and I'm not exactly big so I can get away with it." She paused, turning her attention back to the dog. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Well, we'll have dinner together," she decided, pulling out a piece of glass from the dog's head. She gently stroked its fur, trying to keep it calm. "Could you turn the oven on?"

Damian left to turn on the oven, watching her from the kitchen.

For an assassin, she was unusually caring—especially toward strangers and animals. It was a stark contrast to what he was used to. He might care for animals too, but strangers? Not so much.