Shadows of Gotham

chapter two

Isabella's POV:

I was fifteen, and my mother had dragged me to one of Gotham's high-end boutiques. The kind of place where the price tags were hidden and the salespeople followed you around with forced smiles. She was on one of her usual shopping sprees, fueled by too many mimosas at brunch. I trailed behind her, trying to blend into the background, wishing I could be anywhere else.

As I wandered through the aisles, I noticed a boy about my age. He had dark, tousled hair and a look in his eyes that was both defiant and desperate. He moved through the store with a practiced ease, his fingers deftly slipping items into his worn backpack when he thought no one was looking. But I saw him. And something about him intrigued me.

He didn't belong there, that much was clear. While everyone else was dressed in designer clothes, he wore a faded hoodie and jeans that had seen better days. I watched as he slipped a silver bracelet into his bag, his movements quick and efficient. My heart pounded, a mix of curiosity and fear. What if he got caught?

When my mother wasn't looking, I slipped out of the store and followed him. He moved through the crowded streets with a purpose, not noticing me trailing a few steps behind. Finally, he ducked into an alleyway, and I saw my chance. But, when I entered the alleyway he was nowhere to be seen.

"Why are you following me?" He angrily questions as he drops down from the fire escape from behind.

I let out a startled yelp before letting out,"I-I saw you... steal from the store."

His expression hardened, and he took a step back. "So what? You gonna call the cops?"

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "I just... I wanted to know why."

"Why?" he scoffed, crossing his arms. "Why do you care?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just do."

He stared at me for a long moment, sizing me up. "What's your name?"

"Isabella. Isabella Whitlock."

"Jason," he said finally, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. "Jason Todd."

"Well, Jason," I said, reaching behind my neck to unclasp my vintage gold necklace. It was a family heirloom, a delicate piece that I loved. But something told me he needed it more than I did. "Here. Take this."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "What? Why?"

"Consider it a trade," I said, stepping closer and holding out the necklace. "Promise me you'll be my friend. So I can look out for you."

He hesitated, his eyes flicking between the necklace and my face. "Why would you want to look out for me?"

"Because everyone needs someone," I said simply. "And I think you do, too."

He took the necklace from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. For a moment, his tough exterior cracked, and I saw a glimpse of vulnerability. "Alright, Isabella Whitlock. You've got yourself a deal."

Isabella looked back on the memory fondly as she stood in the grand foyer of her family's mansion, the echoes of her footsteps bouncing off the marble floors and high ceilings. The house was a testament to wealth and prestige, every corner adorned with art and furniture chosen by designers to reflect a lifestyle of opulence. Yet, to Isabella, it was little more than a gilded cage.

The mansion felt more like a museum than a home, its vast rooms and ornate decorations a stark contrast to the warmth and companionship she longed for. Her parents, prominent figures in Gotham's elite circles, were rarely present. Her father, an esteemed lawyer, spent most of his time entrenched in high-profile cases, while her mother, a successful business owner, was constantly traveling for work. Their absence had been a constant in Isabella's life, leaving her to grow up in the company of hired help and her own solitude.