NO CELESTIAL / dick grayson

prologue.

  THE PAST FEW days had been a blur, a flash of images in her head that failed to fit in with the monotonous life she'd been living for the past year. She'd always known her "break" from the League was temporary, but she hadn't expected to be resummoned into it under such hasty circumstances. Such urgent circumstances too.

  But even more surprising was what her orders told her to do.

  The motorcycle she left on the outskirts of Wayne Manor. The rest of the trek she made on foot. But she couldn't help but feel like she was being watched as she marched through the grounds to the grand entrance.

  She'd resided here briefly. And when she'd left she'd left behind a trail of blood, shattered trust and broken hearts.

  She didn't think she'd ever have to come back. And for the most part her assumption was right. The League never sent her to Gotham again for the next six years, and part of her had expected to never have to return to this haunting city. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Better her than anyone.

  The shadows of the manor hovered over her. Here is a house of people you betrayed. Here is a house of people who wish you dead.

  She'd kept tabs on most of them, even in the past few years, even though it seemed unlikely she'd ever have anything to do with them again. It was a sense of curiosity she couldn't kill, no matter how hard she tried.

  She knew what had become of them. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, and later on, Jason, Tim. She'd come close to meeting Jason a few years ago, but she'd been on a mission and by the time she was back, he was gone. She'd wondered if Talia and Seraphina had done it on purpose.

  She knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

  It was an excruciatingly long minute. Long enough it made her wonder if perhaps she'd been wrong, if no one had been watching her approach after all. If all the anxiety and worries of the past few days were messing with her head, her senses, the imminent sense of danger making her paranoid and blinding her senses.

  She raised her hand and prepared to knock again.

  The door swung open, revealing Alfred's familiar face. Her expressions softened. Here was someone who, even if angry, would be cool and collected with her. Someone she could talk to. Here was somewhere to start.

  His expression went slack for a moment, taking in her face, and then he recovered. "Miss Chen?"

  "Hello Alfred. Is Bruce in?"

  "I'm afraid Master Bruce is currently not home. However, Master D—"

  "You've got some nerves, coming back here."

  And here was someone less easy to work with. Someone with good reason to be angry, considering the sword she'd buried in his abdomen. Someone who had hard feelings and wanted answers she didn't know how to give.

  She heard his footsteps coming down the stairs. She was right, then. He had been watching her. The upstairs window. And he emerged, the same dark hair, those blue eyes, the same features but six years older. No longer a boy but a man, confident in his own body and masculinity, and wholly unhappy with her.

  "Dick."

  "I'll handle this, Alfred."

  The butler glanced behind him, giving a slight nod. "Master Bruce will be back within the hour."

  That was his way of saying, whatever shall happen, save it for when Bruce Wayne gets back.

  And then it was her and him, him and her. Blue eyes bore into dark brown ones. She raised one brow. "Hello, Dick."