I've had a lot of ridiculous jobs in my life. Hogwarts Student, Seeker, Chosen One, World Saver, Interdimensional Wanderer, Dead Guy (briefly), and now? Gotham's Unofficial Meta-Babysitter.
It wasn't exactly the title I'd have picked for myself, but after you set up a Foundation meant to keep young metas from falling into the Gotham Crime Starter Pack, you start getting requests. A lot of requests. Which is why, at this very moment, I was standing in the middle of what could generously be called "Controlled Chaos" but was more accurately "A Bureaucratic Dumpster Fire," while dozens of nervous, twitchy metahuman teens tried to decide whether we were here to help or if this was all some elaborate Batman trap.
(Not an unreasonable fear, considering this was Gotham. Also, let's be honest, Batman would do that.)
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, team, let's make this happen. Be welcoming, be helpful, and try not to scare the children. That means you, Galatea."
Galatea, standing by the entrance like an off-duty bouncer, smirked. "I have no idea what you mean."
Supergirl, who had already ditched the "serious superhero" act in favor of letting a kid tug on her cape, glanced over. "You made that one kid cry last week."
"That was not my fault." Galatea folded her arms. "I was explaining the importance of discipline."
Robin, flipping his staff into compact form, snorted. "Yeah. By punching a steel table in half."
Deedee, who had left behind the Control Room at Mount Justice and had already made herself Queen of the Registration Desk, didn't even look up from the forms she was speed-filling. "Yup. Nothing says 'I am a safe, responsible adult' like casually demonstrating that you could crush someone's head like a soda can."
Galatea sighed. "Fine. I will try to be gentler."
I grinned. "Glad we had this talk."
Inside, the Foundation was running at full capacity. On one side, volunteers were helping kids fill out forms (or dictating, because shocker, not everyone gets a proper education when they're too busy running from cops, criminals, or both). Another section had medics making sure nobody was malnourished or secretly bleeding out.
And then, of course, there was the Legal Aid team. Because, let's be real, the moment you develop laser eyes, you need a lawyer.
I approached a table where a teenage girl with transparent skin hesitated over a clipboard like it might explode.
"Hey," I said, turning on the full 'Trust Me, I'm Charming' grin. "You don't have to sign anything if you're not ready. Want me to walk you through it?"
She looked up, her eerie, glass-like eyes scanning my face like she expected this to be a trick. "They won't… take me away, right?"
"Nope. Nobody's snatching you up. You have control over your own life. We're just here to make sure you're safe while you figure things out."
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Okay."
I took her through the form, making sure she knew exactly what she was signing. No fine print. No weird Gotham loopholes. Just help.
Across the room, Zatanna was making the whole process look like something out of Harry Potter and the Organized Filing System. Papers floated, pens wrote by themselves, and when a nervous kid knocked over a stack of documents, they magically re-stacked before they hit the ground.
Robin, because he has the Paranoia Levels of a Bat, was subtly scanning the crowd for anyone who didn't belong.
Supergirl, aka, our Golden Retriever in a Cape, had given up on formality entirely and was sitting with a group of younger kids, letting them mess with her cape and chatting about their powers like they were the coolest thing ever.
Miss Martian, hovering just a little off the ground for maximum 'ethereal space princess' effect, was chatting telepathically with a kid who refused to speak out loud.
Starfire, who had the energy of a Disney princess if Disney princesses could throw people into the sun, was gently introducing herself to a girl with glowing blue hair, making sure she felt welcome.
At the food station, Victor and Sarah were handing out sandwiches and warm drinks like the world's most intimidating lunch volunteers.
Mareena, our resident Atlantean, was helping a metahuman boy covered in shimmering blue scales figure out how to use his gills properly.
Batgirl, the only actually responsible person in this building, was managing logistics. Every time someone asked, "Where do I go for medical?" or "Do I need a parent to sign this?" she had an answer before they finished their sentence.
And Deedee? Well.
Deedee was speedrunning registration, her expression a perfect 'Customer Service Is Hell' face. "Yeah, don't worry, we got you," she muttered to a nervous kid, her pen moving so fast it was a blur.
Galatea, despite earlier concerns, was playing bodyguard by the entrance, arms crossed, radiating 'Try Something and Die' energy.
I turned back to the girl at my table. "All done?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
I grinned. "Awesome. Welcome to the family."
And just like that, the Foundation grew a little bigger.
And Gotham?
Well, Gotham just got a little less terrifying.
—
Cassandra Cain moved through the crowd like a whisper. She wasn't invisible, exactly—more like… ignorable. A ghost in a sea of nervous metahuman kids, all hunched over clipboards, clutching sandwiches like they might disappear at any second.
No one noticed the quiet girl in oversized clothes and wary eyes.
That was the point.
Cassandra had spent three years on the run, dodging the League's grasp, surviving on scraps, and sleeping in places most people would avoid even looking at. She had learned how to read a room, how to spot a threat before it spotted her. And here? In this place? The tension in the air wasn't the usual kind. It wasn't the sharp-edged fear of people waiting to pounce.
It was something worse.
Hope.
Cassandra didn't trust hope.
Across the room, him—Shadowflame—was helping a girl with transparent skin fill out her registration form, his expression open, patient. Like he had all the time in the world. Which was crazy, because the League had files on him, and those files said he was fast, smart, dangerous.
But this? This wasn't a killer.
This was someone who protected.
The League didn't understand the difference.
To his left, Batgirl was running logistics like a general with a thousand tabs open in her brain. If efficiency had a human form, it was her. She answered questions before people even finished asking, occasionally throwing in an exasperated "Robin!" as the boy in question—a dark-haired kid in sunglasses, definitely too cool for registration duty—smirked his way through helping a group of younger kids.
Supergirl, meanwhile, was doing the opposite of what Cassandra had expected. Instead of looming heroically or looking all regal and untouchable, she was sitting on the floor with a bunch of wide-eyed kids, letting them poke at her cape while she hyped them up like they were the next Justice League.
"Ohhh, you have electric powers? That's awesome! Like, imagine how much easier your life's gonna be when you can charge your phone just by holding it. Game-changer, dude."
Cassandra wasn't sure what to do with that.
Miss Martian—red hair, big green eyes, bubbling over with energy—was talking to a boy who wouldn't speak, her voice soft. Then, her eyes glowed faintly, and the kid's posture relaxed as if she had just taken a weight off his shoulders. Cassandra hated telepaths, too many unknowns, but Miss Martian wasn't prying. She was asking. Giving the kid control.
Another contradiction.
Then there was Starfire, standing next to Galatea. The latter had her arms crossed, radiating do not start nonsense in my presence energy, while Starfire, all warm smiles and excited hand gestures, was giving a very detailed explanation to a pair of twins about how friendship was the greatest power of all.
Galatea muttered, "Please stop."
Starfire beamed. "You are simply afraid to embrace the power of love."
Galatea groaned.
Zatanna—who Cassandra had to admit looked way too cool to be doing paperwork—was casually floating clipboards around with magic while explaining something to a boy who looked deeply confused about whatever spell she was referencing. Her whole vibe was effortless competence meets sarcastic older sister.
Mareena, the Atlantean girl, was off to the side teaching a kid how to properly use his gills, talking to him like this was just a normal Tuesday.
And a goth girl—sitting at the main desk, filling out forms at terrifying speeds—was locked in what looked like a life-or-death customer service battle. She rested her chin on one hand, eyes half-lidded with boredom as she stared down a kid trying to argue over some paperwork.
"Kid," she sighed, "I promise you, if you don't sign this, no one is going to show up at your house and congratulate you for being edgy. It's fine. Just fill it out."
Cassandra took all of this in and still wasn't sure what to make of it.
This place shouldn't work. These people shouldn't fit together. But somehow… they did.
And now, she had a choice.
Her mother—Lady Shiva—had sent her here. Not to attack, not to sabotage. Just to watch. To learn.
Cassandra wanted to learn.
But she wasn't sure how.
She stared at the clipboard in front of her. The form. The words.
She clenched her fists.
She couldn't read it.
Her breathing hitched. She had trained with the best assassins in the world. She could kill a man with a single strike. But she could not write her own name.
And just when she was about to slip away—
"Hey."
Cassandra blinked.
Shadowflame was watching her, one eyebrow raised.
He wasn't being aggressive. Wasn't stopping her. But his stance told her he had already clocked her.
She froze.
He tilted his head slightly, voice light. "You know, most people just fill out the form. You've been staring at that clipboard like it insulted your ancestors."
Cassandra stiffened.
His tone shifted—less teasing, more thoughtful. "You can't read it, can you?"
Her breath hitched.
He knew.
She tensed, ready to bolt, but he just held up his hands, casual. "Relax. No big deal. You'd be surprised how many people in Gotham never got the chance to learn. It's not exactly a city that prioritizes education."
Cassandra hesitated.
This was a test.
Not his—hers.
For three years, she had lived in silence. She had never asked for help.
But maybe—
Slowly, cautiously, she reached for the clipboard.
Shadowflame waited, patient.
Cassandra swallowed hard.
And then, gripping the pen with shaking fingers, she scrawled the only thing she could.
A single letter.
C.
She looked up at him, heart hammering.
He glanced at the letter, then grinned.
"Nice. Strong start. We'll work on the rest later."
And just like that…
She wasn't alone anymore.
—
Cassandra didn't know what to do with warmth.
Not fire—fire, she understood. Fire spread. Fire consumed. Fire cleared obstacles when you needed an escape route. Fire made sense.
But this warmth? The kind that settled in her chest when someone looked at her and didn't see a weapon? She had no defenses for that.
Shadowflame jotted something down on his clipboard and slid it back to her.
Cassandra blinked.
A single word sat beneath her shaky 'C.'
Cassandra?
She froze, eyes snapping up to his. Wide. Wary.
He wasn't asking if that was her name. He was asking if she wanted it to be. Like it was her choice.
Cassandra swallowed. Her fingers twitched. Then, stiffly, she nodded.
Shadowflame grinned. "Cool. Let's get you set up."
That was the first weird thing.
The second weird thing?
She didn't leave.
Not that night. Not the next. Not even the one after that.
She told herself she was gathering information. That this was an infiltration mission, just like Mother wanted.
But the truth was…
She was curious.
Not about the place itself. The orphanages and safe houses she'd been in before had all looked the same—some better, some worse, but the same at their core.
No, what really caught her attention were the people.
Like Shadowflame, who trained the younger kids in self-defense—not the kind meant to kill, but to protect. He never loomed, never forced. His movements were steady, reassuring, like he was trying to make sure they felt safe.
Like Batgirl, who ran training sessions like a general commanding an army. Tactical. Efficient. But never cruel.
Like Supergirl, who actually scooped kids into the air and let them feel what it was like to fly. Who laughed, carefree and loud, like she didn't care who heard. Like she didn't have a single bad memory dragging her down.
Like Miss Martian, who shifted her face into increasingly unhinged expressions just to make a shapeshifter giggle. (It worked. Cassandra didn't get why, but it worked.)
Like Starfire, who greeted everyone as if they were long-lost family, complete with dramatic hugs and rapid-fire questions about their day. Who took one look at Cassandra's confused stare and declared, "You are very good at silence! This is an excellent skill!" as if Cassandra had done it on purpose.
Like Zatanna, who—somehow, somehow—never seemed to stop talking. Ever. If there was a Guinness World Record for 'Longest Continuous Conversation Without Taking a Breath,' she'd shattered it years ago.
Like Galatea, who absolutely looked like she could murder someone with her bare hands, but spent more time braiding hair than throwing punches.
Like Mareena, who could murder someone with her bare hands, but was currently teaching a water-breather how to hold their breath longer with the patience of a saint.
Like Robin, who knew things. Cassandra wasn't sure what he knew, just that he knew. And the way he watched her made it clear he wasn't fooled by silence.
Like Deedee, who definitely wasn't fooled by silence, because she did not shut up. ("I like your vibe," she had said within two minutes of meeting Cassandra. "It's very 'stoic assassin, but secretly soft inside.'" Cassandra had no idea how to respond to that.)
Like Victor, who probably would have been the loudest person in the room if Supergirl and Starfire weren't there, but still managed to match their energy on sheer presence alone.
Like Sarah, who didn't immediately rush at Cassandra with a dozen questions, but instead sat beside her in comfortable silence. And when Cassandra didn't move away, just casually said, "So. What's your deal?"
And none of them—none of them—were pretending.
Cassandra had spent her entire life surrounded by masks. Every person she had ever known had been playing a part, their true selves buried beneath false smiles and hidden daggers.
But here?
These people meant it.
And Cassandra had no idea what to do with that.
It took three days before someone noticed she couldn't speak.
Not that she was hiding it. She just… didn't know how to explain it.
But then, during a combat drill, Batgirl called her name.
"Cassandra, you're up. Show me what you got."
Cassandra hesitated.
Batgirl's stance was relaxed. But her eyes? Sharp. Assessing. She had already figured something out.
Cassandra moved forward. Silent. Balanced. Ready.
Batgirl's lips quirked. "I'll go easy."
Cassandra tilted her head.
Then she struck.
Batgirl barely dodged in time.
For a second, just a second, her eyes went wide. A real fight would have been over by now. Cassandra had been trained since before she could walk—Batgirl was good, but she wasn't League-trained.
But Batgirl was smart.
She adapted fast.
She didn't fight like an assassin. She fought like someone who had spent years dealing with criminals who didn't fight fair.
Which was why, three minutes into their spar, Batgirl suddenly called out—
"Duck!"
Cassandra hesitated.
And then ducked on instinct.
Batgirl's fist sailed over her head, right where she would have been standing.
Cassandra's eyes widened.
Batgirl grinned. "Hah. Thought so." She stepped back, tilting her head. "You read me. But you still listen when someone else calls a shot."
Cassandra tensed.
Batgirl studied her for a long moment. Then, casually, she tossed a bottle of water toward her.
Cassandra caught it without thinking.
"You're quiet," Batgirl said. "Too quiet."
Cassandra lowered her gaze.
Batgirl's voice softened. "Not because you want to be."
A beat of silence.
Then, slowly, Cassandra nodded.
Batgirl's gaze flickered with understanding.
"Well," she said, voice light, "we've got plenty of people who like to talk. No rush. When you're ready."
And just like that—
She wasn't alone anymore.
—
The next few days blurred together in a haze of strange normalcy.
Which, for Cassandra, was deeply unsettling.
She wasn't used to this—waking up in the same place, seeing the same faces, and not immediately planning an escape route. The itch in her bones remained, an instinct drilled into her from childhood. The urge to run. To vanish before anyone figured out she didn't belong.
But the longer she stayed at the Foundation, the more she felt something pulling at her, like invisible threads weaving her into a pattern she didn't quite understand.
And honestly? That was terrifying.
Every time she tried to slip away, someone—notably Batgirl—would appear with a casual "Hey, you okay?" like it was the most normal thing in the world.
She never pressed, never demanded answers. She just… noticed.
That was new.
Her father had always spoken in commands, expectations, and threats. Batgirl didn't expect anything from her—not right away. And for the first time, Cassandra felt something stir. A long-buried desire.
To be seen.
Which was probably a mistake.
Every moment she spent here, she felt herself drifting toward something unfamiliar—something that could either save her or destroy her. She had to be careful. She had to remember why she was here.
For herself.
For the first time, she had the chance to figure out what she wanted.
One night, while the others were asleep, Cassandra sat at the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side.
The city hummed below her, a chorus of distant sirens, car horns, and the occasional rooftop pigeon committing crimes against nature.
Don't stay too long.
The voice in her head was sharp. Cold. Familiar.
Her father's voice.
She ignored it.
The night sky here wasn't so different from the ones she'd known before—dark, endless, a void she could lose herself in. But there was something… different about it now. Less lonely.
"You're really good at being quiet, you know that?"
Cassandra stiffened.
She turned quickly, already shifting into a defensive stance before she registered the voice.
Batgirl stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the rooftop doorframe. Her red hair caught the city glow, and her smirk was somewhere between amused and I-know-you-were-about-to-bolt.
Cassandra's heart pounded, but she kept her face neutral.
Batgirl raised an eyebrow. "Relax. I'm not gonna bite."
Cassandra stared.
"…That wasn't supposed to sound threatening," Batgirl muttered, rubbing her temple. "I need to work on my phrasing."
Silence stretched between them.
Batgirl eventually moved forward, dropping into a crouch beside Cassandra, just far enough that it didn't feel intrusive. She rested her arms on her knees and gazed out at the city.
"You know," Batgirl said after a moment, "I've been watching you."
Cassandra stiffened.
Batgirl chuckled. "Okay, that also sounded creepy. What I meant was—I've noticed things. You've got this crazy level of focus, like you don't just see the world, you read it. And you're always calm, even when everything is falling apart."
Cassandra blinked.
"I don't think that's something you just learn," Batgirl continued. "That's something you survive."
Cassandra clenched her fists.
"I think you're tired of running."
That one hit like a punch to the ribs.
She thought of all the rooftops she'd sprinted across, the alleys she'd disappeared into, the long stretches of empty streets where no one noticed her.
Running. Always running.
Batgirl's voice was softer now. "I don't know what you're looking for. But if you need help finding it, you don't have to do it alone."
Cassandra exhaled, slow and controlled.
It wasn't an offer. It wasn't a plea. It was just there.
For the first time in a long time, she wasn't sure if running was the only answer.
The Foundation had its own rhythm, its own strange sense of balance.
Supergirl (a.k.a. Sunny Enthusiasm in a Cape) trained the newer recruits in flight and strength control, which mostly meant not punching through walls by accident.
Miss Martian (a.k.a. Walking Pixar Movie) kept the team's morale high, often shape-shifting into random things mid-conversation for laughs. Once, she turned into a cat just so she could dramatically knock a book off a table in front of Victor. He was not amused.
Victor (a.k.a. The Guy Who's Done With Everyone's Shenanigans) was the tech genius, constantly trying to keep their systems from being hacked by rogue AIs, government agencies, or Robin.
Robin (a.k.a. The One With the Smug Grin) pretended to be a serious detective. But Cassandra had caught him having way too much fun messing with Galatea.
Speaking of…
Galatea (a.k.a. Supergirl's Less Friendly Clone) had vibes. Cassandra wasn't sure if she was trying to kill them all or just mildly inconvenience them. Either way, she and Supergirl bickered constantly, usually ending in property damage.
And then there was Starfire (a.k.a. Literal Ray of Sunshine).
Starfire was… Starfire.
Cassandra had watched her throw a fully grown man across the room while giggling about the joys of Earth cuisine. She also hugged everyone without warning. Cassandra had learned to accept this as an inevitable force of nature.
Then there was Zatanna (a.k.a. Mistress of Sass).
Zatanna had a flair for the dramatic, which meant she was in a constant battle with Deedee (a.k.a. Chaos Gremlin).
Deedee was definitely some kind of fey creature in disguise. Cassandra had seen her turn an argument about snacks into an actual magic duel with Zatanna. It had ended in a draw—which Cassandra assumed was their version of flirting.
But the weirdest part?
They let Cassandra choose.
They didn't push her. Didn't force her to be anything she wasn't. They let her observe. Let her learn at her own pace.
And slowly… something inside her started shifting.
One day, after sparring with Shadowflame, Cassandra found herself staring at a table covered in papers.
Words.
Lots of them.
She traced her fingers over the letters. She didn't understand them. Not yet.
But she wanted to.
Batgirl's voice came from behind her. "Cassandra…"
She tensed.
"Take your time," Batgirl said gently. "There's no rush. Just… be here."
And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in her life…
Cassandra thought that staying wasn't so scary after all.
—
The days blurred together like an old VHS tape that had been rewound one too many times. At first, Cassandra's attempts to read were painful. Like, step-on-a-Lego-in-the-dark painful. The letters on the page refused to stay put, twisting and shifting like they were playing an elaborate prank on her. Trying to make sense of them felt like assembling a jigsaw puzzle where half the pieces were missing, and the other half were on fire.
But she wanted this. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the way Batgirl never got frustrated, even when Cassandra spent fifteen minutes staring at a single word like it had personally offended her. Maybe it was because the idea of communication—real communication—felt like holding out a hand instead of throwing a punch.
Batgirl was patient. The kind of patient that should be studied in a lab.
"There's no rush," she said one evening, her voice as calm as ever. "You'll get there."
Cassandra wasn't so sure, but she nodded anyway.
The real breakthrough, though? That didn't come from the words. It came from watching Barbara.
Cassandra had spent her life reading people, but not the way most people did. She didn't just notice body language—she lived in it. A twitch of the eyebrow, the shift of weight from one foot to another, the tiniest hitch in breath—those things spoke louder than any words ever could.
Batgirl was an open book. (Ha. Book. Because reading. Get it?)
She tapped her fingers against the table when she was emphasizing something. She pursed her lips when she was thinking. When she got really focused, her tongue poked out just a little at the corner of her mouth. And that was how Cassandra learned.
Not just by hearing. Not just by reading. But by watching.
One afternoon, the rest of the team found out about Cassandra's reading lessons. And that's when things got... interesting.
It started with Miss Martian.
"Oooh, can I help?" she hovered behind Cassandra, her green face practically glowing with enthusiasm. "I could totally telepathically transfer language comprehension into your mind!"
Cassandra blinked. What.
Batgirl shot the Martian a look. "Yeah, let's not scramble her brain like an omelet. She's learning at her own pace."
Miss Martian pouted but backed off. For now.
Then Supergirl got involved.
"This is easy," she declared, flopping onto the couch upside down, because apparently that's how Kryptonians read. "You just look at the words and… know them."
Cassandra gave her a flat look. Supergirl sighed. "Okay, yeah, I just realized how unhelpful that was."
Starfire, on the other hand, was incredibly supportive.
"You are doing most excellent, friend Cassandra!" she beamed, floating around the room like an overenthusiastic helium balloon. "When I first learned to read your Earth language, I did not understand the difference between the 'there' and the 'their' and the 'they're,' and it was most frustrating!"
Cassandra could relate. English was rude.
Meanwhile, Galatea (who was basically Kara's snarkier, blonder, occasionally unhinged clone) was zero help.
"Pfft. If she wants to communicate without fighting, she should just glare at people. That's what I do."
Batgirl groaned. "We're not teaching her how to win arguments through intimidation."
"Speak for yourself," Galatea muttered.
And then there was Robin.
"Hey, if it helps, I could put together a training regimen—like a 'reading boot camp,'" Robin offered, adjusting his mask like he was so serious about this.
Barbara sighed the sigh of a woman who had Seen Some Things. "No."
The big breakthrough came weeks later.
Cassandra sat at a table, a pile of books in front of her. She wasn't struggling as much anymore. The words were starting to feel… less like an enemy. More like a puzzle she could actually solve.
She turned a page. Her eyes landed on a letter.
A.
Action.
Something clicked. Like flipping a switch in her brain.
For the first time, the letters weren't just random symbols. They meant something.
Her lips twitched upward. It wasn't much, but it was something.
That night, while Batgirl was working late, Cassandra quietly approached the desk.
Batgirl glanced up. "Hey, you. Need something?"
Cassandra didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed a notepad and a pencil.
Slowly, carefully, she started to write. The letters were a little wobbly, a little uneven, but they were there.
Batgirl leaned in, eyes softening as she read the word.
"You."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Batgirl smiled. A real, proud, oh-my-God-I'm-not-crying-you're-crying smile.
"You wrote that?"
Cassandra nodded.
Batgirl exhaled a breath, shaking her head with a small laugh. "You know, that's pretty damn impressive."
A second later, DeeDee poked her head into the room, a mug of coffee in hand. "Did I just witness a literacy miracle?"
Victor, who was way too invested in this, leaned against the doorway. "Look at our girl, making moves."
Mareena, ever the sweetheart, clapped her hands together. "This is amazing! Do you want me to find some poetry books? I have some wonderful recommendations!"
Zatanna—who had just walked in—grinned. "If she's ready for poetry, we should start with Shakespeare."
Supergirl groaned. "Ugh. Why do you always bring up Shakespeare?"
Zatanna smirked. "Because I enjoy making you suffer."
Starfire, who had zero understanding of sarcasm, nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. Making the Supergirl suffer. It is a noble cause."
The room erupted into laughter.
Cassandra didn't say anything. She just watched, soaking it all in.
This strange, loud, chaotic family of hers.
She wasn't just running anymore.
She was learning to be heard. In her own way. At her own pace.
And for the first time… that didn't feel impossible.
—
The Mother of All Conversations
Cassandra wasn't used to peace.
Not real peace, anyway. The kind where you could sit in a room, let the late afternoon sun warm your skin, and read without constantly checking over your shoulder. That was new. That was weird. And, if she was being honest, kind of nice.
Barbara had given her the book. It was simple, nothing fancy. But she liked the way the words felt under her fingertips, how they were beginning to make sense—like solving a puzzle with pieces she'd never had before. She wasn't great at it yet, but hey, neither was Tim when he tried to teach her chess, and he still thought he was a genius.
Then, it happened.
A flicker of movement outside the window. A shadow where there shouldn't be one.
She knew immediately.
Her heart did its usual panicked thump-thump before settling into something steadier, something she hadn't felt before. A choice.
Not fear. Not obligation. A choice.
Cassandra closed the book, stood up, and walked to the window. She didn't have to look to know. She already knew.
Lady Shiva.
Her mother.
And just like that, the past had come knocking.
Getting out of the house was easy. Getting across the city was easier. Moving through Gotham's rooftops was like slipping between the pages of an old, familiar book. She knew every chapter, every paragraph, every comma. She knew where to step to make the concrete hold her weight without a sound. She knew which alleys smelled like trouble and which ones smelled like hotdogs (not mutually exclusive). She knew where the shadows lingered longer than they should, and more importantly, she knew when they belonged to someone else.
And right now, the only shadow that mattered stood waiting for her on a rooftop, her silhouette framed against the Gotham skyline like some kind of dramatic final boss battle.
Lady Shiva had always been like that. Effortless. Dangerous. The kind of person who could take one step forward and make you question all your life choices, including what you had for breakfast.
Cassandra landed on the rooftop without a sound, stepping into her mother's gravity.
"You came," Shiva said.
Not a question. An observation.
Cassandra took a deep breath. Okay. She could do this. She had fought Deathstroke. She had been trained by the several members of the League of Assassins, including Bronze Tiger, and Merlyn the archer. She had resisted the temptation to punch Robin in the face (barely).
Speaking should be easy.
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Shiva arched a perfect, infuriating eyebrow.
Cassandra scowled. No. She was not going to let her body betray her now. She was not going to let Shiva win this round without even lifting a finger.
She clenched her fists. Focused. Tried again.
And for the first time in her entire life, she spoke.
"I'm not… your weapon."
The words came out raw, unfamiliar. Like learning how to fight all over again, except with her voice instead of her fists. She expected it to feel foreign, wrong. Instead, it felt like breaking a lock that had been rusted shut for years.
Lady Shiva, to her credit, did not look surprised. Annoyed? Maybe. Curious? Definitely.
"You think that because you say it, it becomes true?" Shiva asked, stepping closer, her movements like silk over steel. "The world doesn't change with words, Cassandra. You know that better than anyone."
Cassandra swallowed. Her throat hurt. Was this what talking was like? No wonder people were always drinking water.
"I change," she said, stronger this time. "I learned a new way."
Shiva tilted her head. "A new way?"
Cassandra nodded.
Shiva sighed. "Oh, daughter. You wound me."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow.
"You think I don't know?" Shiva continued, pacing slowly, like a tiger that had just found a particularly interesting snack. "You think I haven't heard about your precious little Foundation? About the secrets your new family keeps? About Shadowflame?"
Cassandra's fingers twitched.
There it was. The real reason.
Shiva wasn't just here for some mother-daughter bonding time. She wanted information. The League wanted revenge.
Cassandra didn't move. She didn't flinch.
Shiva smiled. "So. What will you do, little dragon?"
Cassandra took a breath. This was the moment. The test. The final boss fight she had been dreading.
And then, to Shiva's surprise, Cassandra smiled back.
"You already know," Cassandra said, voice steady, sure. "That's why you're here."
Shiva's expression flickered. Just for a second. It was so fast that anyone else might have missed it.
But Cassandra wasn't anyone else.
Shiva had expected defiance. She had expected silence. She had expected anything but this.
"You're stalling," Shiva accused.
Cassandra shrugged. "Maybe."
"You think I won't make you talk?"
Cassandra's smile didn't waver. "You think you can make me?"
That was the thing, wasn't it?
Shiva had spent her entire life turning Cassandra into a weapon. Training her, molding her, making her into something that obeyed.
But Cassandra wasn't a weapon anymore.
She was something else.
And for the first time, Shiva had no idea what that meant.
Shiva studied her for a long, silent moment. Then, to Cassandra's complete and utter shock, she laughed.
A real laugh. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… amused.
"You really are something," Shiva mused, shaking her head. "Not quite a daughter. Not quite a student. Not quite a threat. Just… something."
Cassandra didn't reply.
Shiva sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets, then." She stepped back, turning toward the city. "But just remember—no matter how far you run, no matter how many books you read, you are my daughter."
Cassandra let the words settle.
She knew what Shiva was trying to do. The League had always played the long game. And Shiva? Shiva was patient.
But Cassandra was, too.
"Maybe," Cassandra said. "But I'm not afraid of that anymore."
Shiva turned, smiling that unreadable, infuriating smile. "We'll see."
And just like that, she was gone.
Cassandra exhaled.
She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the empty rooftop, the wind cold against her skin.
But when she finally moved, slipping back into the shadows, she knew one thing for sure—
She was done being someone else's weapon.
And no matter what came next, no matter what Shiva tried—
She was ready.
---
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