When Red Hood, also known as Jason Todd, finally carves out his own path in Gotham, he's hit with a new wave of chaos. His old friend is released from prison after three long years, but Jason knows their friendship has turned to hostility. She's out...
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𓌜 𓌜 𓌜
Jason's hideout wasn't much to look at.
Exposed brick walls, a single worn leather couch, and one dim light overhead casting long shadows across the room. The place had the look of somewhere you'd stay if you had nowhere else to go, and from what I knew about Jason Todd, that was probably exactly the case.
He'd vanished into the tiny kitchen after a terse "make yourself at home," leaving me standing in the doorway, staring at my surroundings with a mixture of confusion and frustration. I wanted answers—now.
But he had a way of always making me wait.
I took a breath, forcing myself to move further into the room. I didn't sit down. I didn't want to make myself comfortable here. This place was like him—dark, closed off, unwilling to let anyone in.
Just like always, I thought bitterly. I wandered over to a small, dust-covered bookshelf by the wall. Most of the titles were unremarkable, books you'd expect to find in some half-abandoned hideout. But then I saw one title that made me freeze: The Art of War.
Of course. Jason would pick that.
I let out a derisive snort just as he came back in.
"What's funny?" he asked, setting the cups down on the worn coffee table.
"Nothing," I said, though my gaze flicked back to the bookshelf. "It's just... classic you, really."
Jason's eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Classic me, huh?"
"Yeah." I shrugged, folding my arms. "Closed off. Dark. Brooding. It all fits."
He didn't respond, just gave me a level stare as he handed me one of the cups. I took it, the warmth seeping into my fingers as I tried not to flinch at the intensity of his gaze.
"It works," he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the shadows as he walks over to his fridge to pick out beer. "Keeps people out."
I arched an eyebrow, meeting his gaze head-on. "So that's the plan, then? Just keep everyone out? Including me?"
His expression hardened, his shoulders tensing, taking a swing out of his beer. "You wanted to be here. I didn't ask you to follow me."
"You're right. You didn't." I turn towards him. "But here I am. Because you took something that didn't belong to you and dragged me into this whole mess."
Jason's mouth opened, like he was about to argue, but then he shut it, his jaw clenching. "I didn't take anything that wasn't already mine to protect."
"Protect?" I let out a harsh laugh. "Is that what you call it? 'Protecting me' by running off without a word? Leaving me to pick up the pieces?"
